


Rationale

by SandfireKat



Category: Deception (TV 2018)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Denial, Depression, Drama, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Abuse (not detailed), Mild Language, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post Finale, Recovery, Romance, Self-Harm, Shock, Suicide mention, Suspense, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whump, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 20:16:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 221,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14818152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandfireKat/pseuds/SandfireKat
Summary: Denial is one hell of a thing.Takes place directly after Transposition





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! So here's the thing: I wrote this entire twenty-five page monster in two days and now it's four in the morning, and I need to get up in four more hours, so I didn't have time to edit, or reevaluate my life choices. So please be kind. If there are any typos I would love to fix them! And anything else that's wrong. I just couldn't get this story out of my head, I know I have Irreversible still, and I'm working on that tomorrow! I already have about half of it done, so I was working on both. :)  
> ANYWAY. Please read the tags! I never try to go in-depth into super sensitive material, I've actually never straight-up written this one in particular, and I never plan to. I always understand that what I write can be sensitive and I never go overboard with it. I only give what I have to, and writing what I did was enough even for me. So even though it's in the tags, it's not going to be...too much. If that makes sense. I put the bold warning on it just in case, but...I promise, it's not an issue. Or at least I tried not to make it so. I was almost tempted not to choose the bold marker. 
> 
> I wrote this story so it could be a one-shot! A very very long one-shot...but if people like it, and they want me to write more, I could tack on one more chapter. One that would be ten times as depressing as this one is, so that's a thing, but still. If it's wanted, I'll do it! If not, it's pretty complete at it is. Either way! (If I go on obviously tags will be added as well as characters <3)
> 
> I hope you like it! I really gave myself carpal tunnel to get it out in the span of two days. Thank you for reading! And I hope I can hear some of your thoughts! :) <3

Denial is one hell of a thing.

It can make you do anything. Think anything. Believe anything. Simply because you didn't want to believe something else instead.

_It doesn't matter that they're twenty minutes late, they won't stand me up._

_It doesn't matter they're not answering my calls, they're probably just too busy to talk._

_It doesn't matter that they're not breathing anymore, they can't be dead._

_It doesn't matter that they broke up with me, they'll regret it and apologize._

_It doesn't matter that it didn't work the first two times I did it, it'll work this time._

Pick any one of them. They're all the same. Because they're all stupid.

But maybe not as stupid as this one.

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

Maybe that's the stupidest scrap of denial that's ever existed. But it was the first thing that occurred when Cameron picked himself up off the floor. When he gathered his thoughts, scrambled and disoriented from the blow that had knocked him out in the first place— the blow that had come from his brother, too fast and too unexpected to dodge. That was the first thing he felt when he woke up: confusion. Wondering what the heck had just happened because it made as much sense as being told Spider-Man was actually the person that had killed Uncle Ben the entire time. It just hadn't connected. The dots were there, but the numbers weren't— he didn't know how to even begin to draw lines between them. What shape they ended up making.

But once he'd stood and looked towards the door – looked down at himself and then back up in growing alarm – the next thing he'd felt had been shock. Just shock. A numbness rooted in the idea that something had to be wrong, just because these dots didn't make sense. He knew that Jonathan had punched him, had swapped their clothes and escaped on his own to leave him here…but he didn't  _understand_ it. They'd…they were going to do it  _together_. They were going to leave  _together,_ and they were going to solve this… _together,_ like they should have done from the very beginning. He'd come in with everything they'd needed, he'd been— prepared to leave behind everything, to go on the run with his brother, because…because they were going to do it _together_. So why…how…what he'd said— Cameron knew what Jonathan had  _said_ , but…

And once the shock faded, after he'd stood in unmoving silence for what felt like a tiny eternity, then that was when the denial had set in. Fully and officially, settled over his shoulders. He'd turned his stunned gaze down to his hands, like he was holding an answer there that he just had to study in order to see. The gears in his brain had begun to turn, stuttering and straining with the effort of piecing together this puzzle that didn't make a coherent image once it was assembled. It made no picture, so he was attempting to make one himself. And that was the picture his mind had crafted. Slowly, and not all surely, but eventually.

Jonathan had left. He'd left him here. He'd switched their places. But he'd done it for a  _reason_. There  _had_  to be a reason. He'd gone out by himself because he had a plan, and this was just a part of it. He was going to go after the woman himself, because he knew exactly what to do, and he just needed Cameron here to take his place in jail until everything was sorted. The gears spun and twisted, picking up speed the longer he stood alone in that room. Jonathan was going out to do something only he could to take MW down. He needed him here, that was why he'd refused to go with him in the first place when Cameron had offered it. That was it— it  _must_ be it. His brother was sorting everything out, and he was trusting him to know that. Just like he'd trusted him to know that when MW had broken into the Archive and pointed a gun to his head.

He'd been there for him, then. He was there for him now. Cameron knew that. It was the only way this made sense.

Or…it wasn't the  _only_  way it made sense.

But it was the easiest thing to believe.

So he did. He told it to himself and tried to reap as much comfort from it as he could.

Jonathan would never leave him. He would never hurt him like this— abandon him like this.

Cameron loved his brother. He trusted him. Both with all his heart.

And Jonathan did the same for him…didn't he?

"Black." Cameron's head snapped up at the bark. His stomach fell three nearly three stories. He turned to the door to see the guard that had let him in. The man had greeted him with a polite smile, before. Now, there wasn't even a shred of that left to see. The older man's stare was hard and flinty, and he regarded Cameron like someone would look at a particularly full garbage can that they really would rather not empty. Cameron said and did nothing; for all he was staring, he was a deer trapped in headlights. Apparently, this was the wrong thing to do. "Come on, Black, you've been loitering long enough," the man snapped. "I don't have time for you to waste."

Cameron blinked rapidly. His mouth was dry— he could barely choke back a swallow. Panic and fear and confusion was a sickening cocktail in his stomach, and he was doing his best to try and stomp it down before it could mutate into anything more dangerous. When he spoke, his voice was horribly small and weak. Unsure. "Did—" He cut himself off. He hesitated for a long moment, his eyes wide as he scrambled for what he should do. The guard was only growing angrier with every passing second he was continuing to 'waste.' He forced the question out, trying not to stutter on it too much. "Did…my brother leave?" he asked.

For all the other reacted, Cameron might as well have asked 'Is water wet?' "He left ten minutes ago, and you're still standing in here," he growled. Cameron tried to reply, an apology already building itself on his tongue simply out of instinct. He was going on though before he could. "You don't have this room anymore, it was only given to you to help the FBI. Now that they don't need you, we're clearing it. You can't hang out in here like it's a Starbucks."

"I— I wasn't—" He couldn't remember the last time he was this confused. He couldn't remember the last time he was this speechless. Eventually, he managed to spit something out, but it likely wasn't at all what was appropriate for this specific situation. "This place is too small to be a Starbucks. Which is saying something, because they're usually  _really small_." His words ended in a nervous burst of laughter. Maybe it was the shock and confusion that got him talking like this. Whatever it was, it was stupid. And he knew that as soon as it got out of his mouth. Unfortunately, that was a tad too late to be of any use.

The guard smiled, but the grin was filled with nothing but disdain. It got Cameron to immediately withdraw. "That's funny," they growled. Then they dropped the smile, glowering instead as they stepped to the side and jerked their thumb over their shoulder. "Out," he barked again, and Cameron jerked at the harsh command. "Unless you want to miss lunch, and if that's the case, you can just go back to your cell."

Cameron still stayed where he was for a heartbeat. His mind was racing, sprinting this way and that. His eyes flickered past the guard for a moment, out into the hall. Like some part of him expected Jonathan to be standing there with a smirk on his face and a 'Got ya' on his lips. Just like he'd always waited for their father to come out and do the same thing, whenever he was particularly cruel. But there was nobody there; Jonathan was long gone. But what was he doing out there? And why hadn't he let him in on what he was going to do?

The map— he took the map, too, didn't he? Maybe he was going there to wait out for MW like Cameron had said before— that would make sense. MW had only wanted to talk to him before with that entire kidnapping case. If Jonathan went out alone and caught her, she wouldn't be as suspecting as she would be if Cameron went along too. That must have been his plan! Cameron could see it, it fit perfectly— that was the picture of the puzzle! He was going to lie to get to her, and that way he could get the evidence he needed, of course he was!

That was why he left him here. He needed time, and he needed the freedom to trick her. Freedom that they wouldn't have had if the police was out looking for him. Jonathan needed him here, that was what was going on. This way, it made sense. Cameron was making it make sense. His brother was— "Black!" Cameron stiffened again at the yell, and he looked back up with a small jump. The guard was scowling now, and it was clear that his temper was running short. If he even had a temper in the first place, and didn't just immediately jump to rage. "Do you want me to drag you out of this room, or do you want to move your goddamn legs?"

Cameron swallowed everything back. The explanations, the questions, the apologies, everything. He clamped his mouth shut and he swallowed hard, clenching his hands into tight fists at his sides instead. If Jonathan really was trying to do something…and surely that was the case…then it was clear what Cameron's role in this was. He couldn't speak up. He couldn't get Jonathan into trouble. He knew his brother— he knew his brother like the back of his hand. He couldn't get him into trouble by speaking now.

He wouldn't want to, anyway. He loved him.

So…he moved his goddamn legs.

Keeping his hands fisted, Cameron walked out. The guard's irritation was in no way lessened by the compliance— he just slammed the door hard and turned to walk close behind him like a shadow. Cameron took another deep breath and forced himself to keep moving. He forced himself to ignore the sickening feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, as well. The guard herded him along and snapped at him to keep walking whenever he hesitated. He knew the building— he'd looked at its layout time and again, and he'd visited it enough times to get a bearing on where everything was. But he'd never actually walked these halls. He'd never gone anywhere except the total of about three places visitors were allowed to actually go. The cafeteria wasn't one of these places. That had been off-limits.

He eyed it all as they went. The tiled floor, the harsh fluorescent lights overhead, some of them flickering like they were about to go out. The walls were concrete and bare, and though Cameron had seen it all more times than he really wanted to admit, somehow it looked completely different now. It  _felt_ different. Before now, he hadn't even really thought about the way it looked— he'd really only been focused on seeing Johnny. Now he couldn't really ignore how depressing it kind of was. How oppressive and how…awful. It was awful. That was the only thought that really stuck with him, at first.

But the longer they walked and the longer he was given time to think, other thoughts started cropping up. How genuinely angry his brother had looked when they'd been talking. How he'd glared at him and refused his offer of help over and over again. How he'd punched him and knocked him out cold. And as he walked and thought about all of this, the knot in his stomach started to grow more and more. 'If Jonathan had to leave to go through with his own plan, why didn't he just tell you that?' it demanded. Cameron wilted, but kept walking. The only change was the smallest hunch of his shoulders. 'If he just explained, he had to know that you would agree. At the very least, why didn't he just shoot you a look or something? To let you know it was all a part of some plan and he'd have it all fixed soon? There was nobody listening in. Nobody watching. If this was a plan, he would have said something.'

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

'Yeah, but how do you  _know_ that? You don't really  _know_ that. He was  _furious_. He was angry. You'd messed up with him so many times, you said it yourself. He found a way to let you know he still had your best interests at heart even when MW was two feet away from you. Here, you two were completely alone…there was no camera, no audience…and he knocks you unconscious and leaves you back here. Maybe it's not a plan, maybe this is just his special 'fuck you.' Not that you don't deserve it, but that's a topic to address at a later time. What I'm saying is: I don't think Jonathan had a plan at all. Unless that plan was to get away from  _you_. I don't think what all he said was for show. I think it was true.'

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

Cameron closed his eyes tightly, his nails digging crescent moons in the palms of his hands by now. He kept going where the guard was pushing him to, and wisely he followed the man's example and kept silent. The longer they walked, though, the more strained his expression became, and the tighter his muscles grew. He tried to push away the other voice and hold tight to the other part of him. The part of him that had existed since he could first remember. That adored Jonathan and trusted him with his entire heart. That always looked up to him as if he was the older brother, even though they were twins. The part that knew without a doubt that Jonathan would never in a million years hurt him, in any way shape or form. He couldn't possibly doubt him. Not now. Not after everything they'd been through.

That's what he told himself, anyway. Over and over and over again, in the hopes that it would stick.

Winding through hallway after hallway that stayed just as dim and dreary as the one before it, they finally approached the cafeteria. Cameron could hear the rumble of voices before he saw it. His steps started to slow and hesitate the closer he got, and by the time he was actually crossing its threshold, he was hardly moving. Suddenly it was a lot less simple to just breathe normally. He felt like he used to get before shows, way back before he was comfortable in the spotlight, or in front of hundreds of people. Nervous, and unsure, and pretty positive that he was going to make a mistake.

Apparently, the guard had had his fill of him. Which Cameron couldn't really blame him for, because at this point, he'd had a fill of himself as well— he just didn't have the luxury of throwing up his hands and walking away. Even though the sentiment was still kind of there. Without a single word – without the tiniest goodbye – he just turned and walked away, which left Cameron with an odd kind of jolting feeling that he imagined a kid would feel on their first day of kindergarten. But less of 'Mom, wait, where are you going?' it was more like 'I don't even know your name but please come back so I do not die.'

It wasn't the _perfect_  analogy. But he guessed if a kid was particularly anxious, the thought process would pretty much be the same.

He lingered there for ages, just staring like someone who had never even seen a cafeteria in the first place. He'd never had a first day of high school, or…well, a first day of any kind of school, that he could remember anyway. He and Jonathan were both home-schooled from the very beginning. Can't have something stupid like school getting in the way of tour dates, now could they? It explained two things: why Jonathan wasn't a social person at all (despite the more obvious reason of the fact that he wasn't supposed to exist, of course) and why Cameron had been so bad at it for so long, and was still pretty overbearing when it came to that department. They never really had any  _wanted_  socialization aside from themselves for the better parts of their lives.

Which means they never had things like prom, or too-shy first dates, or figuring out homerooms, or picking out/running for homecoming court, and this: finding out where the heck to sit in a lunchroom they'd never been in before when they knew nobody here. Now, bear with the metaphor, because this was not at all the first day of high school as much as it was a moment Cameron wasn't even supposed to be having, in a room full of convicted felons, but analogies don't have to be perfect, do they? They just had to kind of fit, and though Cameron wasn't at all an expert on the subject, he imagined the feeling he had right now could be sympathized at least a little bit with the fourteen-year-olds that were just trying to eat their sandwich in peace.

He looked over the tables and the people that were already there, some sitting down and eating and some in line to get their food. He knew nobody. He was hoping he'd be able to at least pick out a face he'd maybe seen during his visits, or maybe pluck a name out of the air that Jonathan had mentioned. But in the year he'd been here, Jonathan hadn't ever name-dropped a single person that might be a shining beacon of at least somewhere to go.  _So thank you, for that, and thank you for everything else happening right this very moment, because I appreciate it so much_. He had to take another deep breath to steady himself. To center his thoughts back to where they mattered.

He wasn't hungry, that was for damn sure. He wasn't really keen on asking if he could go anywhere else, or even asking if that was a thing he could do. He was guessing the answer would be no. Or it would be a large inconvenience to the man he'd apparently been a real trouble for up until this point already. So Cameron resigned himself to taking the nearest empty seat. The other half of the table had a couple people sitting there, but this half was vacant, and he figured that meant it was a good spot to sit until he could figure out what the heck he was supposed to do.

Beyond the obvious. He couldn't call anyone. Not Dina, or Jordan— definitely not Gunter. He couldn't call Kay, either. They would start looking for Jonathan. And if he had a plan –  _I don't think he has a plan, I think he ran away, I think he left me here, I think he wants me to rot here like he did, I think he wants to get back_ — then alerting them to the fact would ruin the entire thing. He'd ruined enough for Jonathan. He'd ruined this entire thing up to now. If Jonathan was doing something right this second, then he would only make it worse. He would only prove his brother's anger right. So no, he couldn't call anyone. That would ruin the whole thing.

So…he just…stayed here?

He didn't want to do that either.

Jonathan hadn't, though, and he had. Jonathan had the means the plans to escape – he'd said this more than enough times – but he never did. He stayed in here and let Cameron go out and try to solve things, staying as patient as possible with every failed attempt. Now…it was just Cameron's turn to do the same thing. He would wait here and give Jonathan the chance to solve it all, and maybe he wouldn't have to wait long. It would only be a few days…in a few days, Jonathan would come back and visit him and he would say he was sorry, and a bunch of other things, probably. He would tell him that everything was fine and he was onto something, and if he just gave him a little bit longer, he would have the evidence to clear his name and this whole thing could be put behind them.

It would only be a couple of days, before he came back with an explanation and an apology.

Right?

Right.

Of course.

Seventy-two hours. It couldn't be more than seventy-two hours, he was sure of it. He could wait that long. There wasn't much to it, was there? Certainly not. Cameron had once spent a whole weekend at the childhood home of some girl, meeting every single member of her family, and during that entire time – and to this very day even – he hadn't actually known her name. If he could pull that off, this would be easy. Heck, this might even be less awkward than that had been. He just had to be patient. He just had to trust Jonathan.

At the last thought, he cringed, reaching up and rubbing at his injured cheek.

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what's he's doing._

He took to staring down blankly at the table, finding that it was actually a very good pastime when compared with any alternative he had at his disposal. He stared through the table, not really seeing it in the first place, and he just stared. The only thing on his mind really being wondering how long lunch was so he could wonder how long he had to sit here. He was never good with sitting and doing nothing. He got too fidgety. Jonathan was the opposite— he always used to poke fun at him for the habit. But eventually something leaked through his awareness, and he realized something. Something that was probably fairly important.

People were staring at him. Openly. They weren't even trying to hide it.

Cameron could hear talking, too. Different than the regular buzz of conversation you would expect. He could hear hissing kind of whispers— hushed mutters that gave off the vibe of something more important than what was on TV tonight, or what your weekend plans were. Once he became aware of this change, Cameron's eyes flickered away from the table as he looked up instead. Sure enough, a majority of the room was looking in his direction. Some showing more discretion than others. He managed to keep the blank look on his face, thankfully enough, but the knot in his stomach got about twenty times tighter. In his lap underneath the table, his hands clenched tight.

Did they see something different? It wasn't really a worry that Cameron had ever really had. When he was a kid he did— when they'd first started the whole charade, he was _always_  wondering whether they were pulling off the stunt, or if people could tell there was a difference between him and Jonathan. Eventually the worry had melted, and then it had all but vanished. But now, Jonathan was common knowledge. Everyone knew there were two Black twins, now. Did that mean it would be easier to anticipate a difference? Nobody had suspected for a single second, when he and Jonathan had switched places during the card trick earlier. Nobody had even batted an eye. How could these people be wiser? But if they weren't, then what in the world were they—

Something hit him. Cameron stiffened and jerked, startled as he reached up on impulse to get it off. There was the distinct sound of laughter as he did, and he looked down at his hands with a grimace to see that someone had decided the best use of their spaghetti would be as a missile straight to his face. It was a mess. All over him, all over the front of his shirt, and in his hair. When he realized this, the snickering around him only got louder. Practically burning with self-consciousness, Cameron looked up to try and see who had been the culprit, but given everyone's equal attention and satisfaction, it was impossible to tell. He just looked down and tried to scrub it off, his eyebrows pulling together in a strained flinch.

But the second he ducked back down, something else was thrown at him. And then something else, and something else. A tiny yelp escaped Cameron after the third handful of pasta hit him. He staggered and tried to fumble out of his seat, hunching over more and throwing his arms up in front of his face to try and shield it. He felt everything hit him— spaghetti, mashed potatoes, green beans, they all rained down on him in a giant mess. And as he stumbled and tried to get out of range somehow, everyone started yelling and slamming their hands down on the tables. Cameron's stomach dropped when he realized what they were calling out.

"Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat! Rat!"

"Alright, alright, alright,  _hey_!  _HEY_! Knock it off! Hey!" About twenty seconds too slow, one of the guards standing along the wall intervened. And it took a few more seconds after his shouting for the effect to finally take hold. Less and less food hit him until eventually it died off completely. When it did, Cameron was left with a look on his face that must have come off as more stupid than astonished. Food was covering him from nearly head to toe. It was seeping through his clothes, and he kept trying to scrub it off, feeling like every single wipe only made it all worse somehow. Like he was just spreading the crap around instead. Everyone still kept hitting the table, their chanting breaking off now into laughter.

The guard was still angry. But as he stomped up and grabbed hard at Cameron's elbow, he wasn't sure who he was angrier at: the other prisoners, or Cameron himself. But he hadn't even done anything! "C'mon," the man growled, yanking on his arm to steer him for the exit of the cafeteria. "Alright!" he snapped louder, to everyone still jeering or hitting their table. "You made your point—  _knock it off_ , unless you want a shot!"

"Better tell your cop friends!" someone yelled out in Cameron's direction.

"Why don't you go cry to the FBI!?"

"It's a better look for you than a badge!"

Cameron didn't react to any of the yelling, but his eyes were wide and hollow. He looked down at himself, now stained and covered in food. In the thick of the mess, someone must have thrown their drink on him, too. He remembered all the times he came to visit Jonathan and saw that he was sporting another bruise, or a scrape, or a cut. How he'd had a particularly nasty injury after he found out how to get into the museum for him from another prisoner. In retrospect, maybe getting food all over him wasn't such a bad thing. But still, he felt like he was going to be sick. The knot in his gut was only getting tighter, and as he was steered harshly away from the cafeteria to his cell, he had to make the conscious effort to remember how to breathe right.

When they were about halfway there, Cameron finally forced himself to speak. "Can—" He grimaced, trying to move to wipe at his shirt and get a particularly stubborn glob of potato off of him. But the guard was still holding onto him too tight to allow him to move that arm. The reach was awkward, but he knew that if he asked to be let go, it wouldn't go over well. But still… "Can I get…new clothes or something?" he asked. The guard didn't even look at him. He hesitated, but eventually tried again with a tiny cringe. "Can I have a change of clothes? …Or—?"

The guard suddenly stopped him in his tracks and turned to open the nearest cell. Jonathan's cell— another place that Cameron had never been to in the year he'd come to visit. Cameron hesitated, just staring at it with an expression bordering on nervousness. The guard wasn't interested in waiting, though, because he practically shoved him inside when he didn't immediately move. Cameron staggered, having to catch himself to keep from falling. Once he straightened and turned, the door was already sliding closed.

"W-Wait!" he stuttered, inwardly cursing at how his voice came out sounding. He had to make a purposeful effort to dial himself back into that apathy Jonathan usually had. "Can I have a change of clothes?" he repeated, louder this time. He looked like a Picasso piece. He realized in that moment he had no idea how anything worked in here. Did he already have new clothes somewhere? Or did you always have to ask for new ones? When could he take a shower? Where was the shower, how did that even work, why hadn't he asked any of this before?

Well, that's a stupid question.

He shouldn't have  _had_ to. This shouldn't be  _happening_.

He waited for an answer anyway, his heart a little bit in his throat. But he wasn't given one. The guard looked over him with clear distaste, before he just turned and walked back the way he'd come. Going back the cafeteria and leaving him behind. "Wait!" Cameron called, rushing forward and trying to look after him, hooking his fingers in the bars of the cell. "Wait! I just—!" He bit back the yell, his shoulders drooping as he realized it was pointless. The blank look on his face melted now that he was alone, and his disappointment swamped forward instead.

He looked at the bars keeping him back, sorrow and remorse mingling in his stare now. Reluctantly, he took his hands back, pulling his arms close to his chest instead as if he was cold and just trying to conserve some warmth. He turned, looking at the tiny space that his brother had occupied for going on more than a year, which was suddenly his now. It was smaller than he anticipated. A few tiny cubic yards of suffocation. He felt strange already, standing inside it. The close quarters just made it even worse.

He looked at the bed, and then back down at his clothes. His chest felt like someone was carving into it with a knife. It felt like his lungs were giving out. Like he was back in the vault, and the room was spinning, and he was going to fall, he was going to lose consciousness, he was going to pass out, he was going to— He started to sag to the side, but at the last second, he threw out his arm and caught himself on the wall. He didn't keep himself from falling, but he did slow it. He hit the ground with a soft thud, and from there he dragged his legs up to his chest and moved to hold his head in his hands.

He tried to keep himself breathing— in and out, even and slow. He closed his eyes tightly and just stayed where he was on the floor of Jonathan's cell, trying to calm himself down before he could get too worked up. He tried to talk himself away from the ledge. He tried to wipe all the food residue off of him and ignore the water that had officially soaked through his shirt. He tried to ignore how the entire side of his face was still stinging— how it had mutated into a deep-seated ache by this point. He tried to ignore the way his eyes began to sting when he remembered the angry look that had been on Jonathan's face. The indifferent anger that had been in his voice right before he'd struck him.

His breathing started to hitch, but he shook his head firmly against it.

No.

No, he wouldn't let himself.

He had to remember. He couldn't let himself forget.

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

He told himself over and over again. Hoping one of the repetitions would finally make it cement.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He never got a change of clothes…but that was alright, he was kind of liking the splash of…color. He could ignore the smell and by now it was hardly damp or anything. It was fine, this was all fine. Mind over matter, and it  _didn't even_  matter— that's what Dad always used to say. Now wasn't exactly the best time to dwell on advice given by Sebastian Black, of course, but at this specific moment in time, Cameron didn't really have too much else to work with. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and right now he was the epitome of a beggar.

But after a while he was let out of his cell and allowed outside. He hadn't realized how stuffy it was indoors until he got back out. He'd just been outside a few hours ago, when he'd been on his way in to visit Jonathan in the first place. To break him out. But crossing the threshold and getting out into the fresh air was significantly more uplifting than he anticipated. Which somehow just made him guilty. Here he was, already wanting out of here so bad that he was grasping at this tiny straw. He'd only been here for a short amount of time. Jonathan had been here for more than year.

So surely him doing anything other than laying low for his brother in here was still wrong?

Seventy-two hours. He kept telling himself that. Already it had been like three or four, right? That made it just sixty-eight more hours, and then in four more hours it'd be sixty-four. If he thought about it – and he definitely was – then the stay was practically already over. He might as well be packing his things. Jonathan might as well be walking through the door right now. But…well, he wasn't right this second, so for now Cameron was just happy to be out here. It was more normal.

He still wasn't sure what he was supposed to— or where he was supposed to go. At least this time he knew that nobody would appreciate him trying to speak to them in any way. He knew enough from Jonathan to take his own advice. He'd always told him that all he needed to do in here was keep his head down and he would be fine. He couldn't really have done that in the cafeteria, considering they were just angry Jonathan had been out helping the FBI in the first place. Again.

He was on his fifth lap of the yard. Trying to focus on how cold it was, because at least then he was distracted enough not to think about anything else. He was looking outside of the fence, out towards the road as he tried to think of where Jonathan was, and where he was going. What he was going to do, so he could get back to him and sort this all out. Holding onto desperate hope that there was something up his sleeve. An ace, a club, he'd take anything. He'd _believe_  anything. Other than the worst.

He was listing everything possible that his brother could be doing. But after his seventh lap, he became aware of something else. His focus wavered away from the cold, when he heard a new voice over to the side. He wrenched his eyes away from the cement ground, and when he looked in its direction, he stiffened. There was a small group of people clumped near the back wall of the prison. A small semi-circle of four people was trapping someone against the secluded corner. The person speaking was at the forefront— it wasn't a hard leap to see that he was the leader. He was tall and overblown— taller than Cameron, and definitely more muscular (he'd always kind of lacked in that department). If Cameron was smart he would have kept walking.

But he was kind of always lacking in that department, too.

"I don't think you understand the position you're in," the leader was growling. Cameron's eyes narrowed. He slowly began to stop, and he leaned over to the side to try and see who was being pinned better. They looked considerably younger than he was. And clearly daunted by whatever this dude was saying. He looked scared— he was practically shaking as he kept his eyes trained on the ground. The look on his face made Cameron immediately bristle in anger. He started to veer over in their direction. The scowl only growing on his face.

"P-Please, I don't want any trouble," the cornered prisoner stammered. "I-I just— I don't want—"

"Oh, you don't want any trouble?" the leader asked scathingly. It shut the other up at once, and he cringed backwards. One of the others that were surrounding him reached over and gave a hefty shove to his shoulder. The younger yelped and flinched backwards. Cameron gritted his teeth and quickened his pace. "I don't want any either. So why don't you just—"

"Hey!"

Everyone turned immediately at Cameron's call, and the quick turnaround was enough to get his steps to slow the tiniest bit. But still, a nervous smile spread over his face on instinct. It was kind of his go-to whenever he realized what he was doing was a little bit stupid. So he often had this expression on his face. In the moment, he wasn't even worried about the fact that Jonathan never did. "Hey," he repeated, the leader of this whole thing currently staring him down. "We don't, uh— we don't need to do this, do we?" he prompted. The younger prisoner was looking at him with huge eyes, shaking. Cameron flashed him a softer smile, brief and quick. They straightened. He looked back at the antagonist of the situation, and his smile turned cooler. "C'mon, we're already in prison, we don't need to make it any worse."

The man scowled. "I would keep walking if I were you," he growled.

Cameron kept himself steady. "Look, I'll keep walking when you leave that poor guy alone," he insisted. "I don't know what's happening, but let's not do something we'll regret. Something we'll  _all_ regret— right?" He shook his head. "C'mon, just leave him alone," he encouraged. "I'm sure whatever it was isn't important enough to get into trouble over."

"I don't need some rat magician telling me what to do," the man spat. He turned and advanced on Cameron— his goons stepped closer together to meet in the middle and keep their victim trapped where he was. Cameron stiffened a bit when the distance between them was shrunk. And he quickly looked off to the side when the man whipped something out of his pocket only to put it up close against his neck. It was a shiv— some scrap of metal that this guy had apparently taken the time to sharpen into a weapon. And pretty well, too. Though the compliment only came in the form of a nervous awareness. "I think. I would keep walking. If I were you," he repeated, slower this time.

Cameron sighed through his nose. He closed one eye in a grimace but he looked back with a smile all the same. "I will," he offered. "If you leave him alone. Between you and me, I don't think anything is worth twenty more years. Now, I don't claim to know what trouble you've got going on with  _him_ , but I know that if you stab  _me_  and get that added time, that'd be a real slap in the face. It'd be kind of pointless. Because I just walked over here."

The man glowered at him. "Into a situation you know nothing about."

He shrugged. "Enlighten me," he invited. "Because right now I don't see a reason to bully someone that looks half your age." He hesitated before he tacked on: "Unless you're just really bored. And if you are, I'm sure those guys over there could invite you to play in their basketball game." He nodded towards the court, with a shrug. "Although I'm not too sure you're a real 'team player' you know what I'm sayin'?"

"Looks like you've already gotten into trouble once today," he spat, looking at Cameron's cheek which had slowly begun to bruise and blacken over. This was effective enough to wipe Cameron's smile. His eyes flashed in pain, and his lips pressed tighter together as he looked away again. The prisoner smirked. "Now, unless you want a slice through your cheek instead, I'd suggest you shut the fuck up and walk the fuck away."

Cameron hesitated. His eyes flickered over to the victim again, and his hands clenched at his sides when he saw how scared they looked, still. And at the idea he might actually give into the intimidation and back off, they looked like they were ten seconds away from having a full-on breakdown. Cameron still had no idea what in the world was going on between them. But he did know that four against one wasn't fair odds at all. He was more than aware that he had just finished telling himself that he needed to keep his head down. And that this was quite literally the exact opposite of that. But right now he didn't care. He had been useless enough, up to now. He hadn't been able to help Johnny. This wasn't the same, but he couldn't turn his back on this person. Not peacefully.

"I think you should leave," Cameron said instead. And he held the man's stare even as it clouded with anger. "I think you should leave him alone, you should put that thing away, and you should give up on this entire thing. Because I'm not really in the mood to let it keep going." He raised his eyebrows, watching him expectantly. And waiting. For what he knew was probably going to come.

Sure enough, the swing came fast. Cameron barely had time to react at all. Right before the knife made contact, though, he ducked and weaved to the side, reaching out and grabbing hard to his arm as it swept by him. Before the unnamed prisoner could shake him off, Cameron twisted hard. The yank caused the man's hand to go slack for the briefest of seconds, which Cameron took to snatch the shiv away from him. The second he started to turn and rush for him, fury absolutely flooding his face, Cameron stuck out a foot and tripped him with a heavy kick. He hit the ground, and Cameron took a few steps back, his eyes narrowing. The second he started to turn to look at the prisoner who had needed his help in the first place, one of the others grabbed at him, trying to wrench him around.

He scowled, jerking his elbow back and ramming it right into the other's stomach. They fell like a rock, and he turned to the next attacker, punching them in the face before they could do the same to him. Delivering the same exact blow that Jonathan had used to knock him on his back. The knowledge put an unnecessary weight on his heart, and in the moment, his mind went blank for a heartbeat. He found himself freezing as they fell; he watched them collapse and felt an unexpected sense of intense guilt. If he was aware of himself and what was going on, he would have realized the guilt had nothing to do with the actual person. It was simply what he wished Jonathan had felt when he'd watched  _him_ capsize. Nothing more.

But the hesitation was his own, and it was all the time that was needed for the last person to rush forward and catch him off guard. With Cameron looking the other way, they were able to swoop forward and deliver a hard punch directly to his stomach, knocking the wind out of him completely. His eyes flew wide and he doubled over at the waist— it was the perfect opportunity for the other to not only wrench the shiv back out of his hand, but to also punch him on the same side of his face that his brother had. He hit the ground with a dull thud, still struggling to make his lungs work again, and breathe. However, once he fell, the other goon had recovered and was there to deliver a kick to the same exact spot in his stomach. Making recovery impossible.

Cameron tried to get up and regain his upper hand, but the very second he started to try, the leader was back up and he was there to stomp him back down. Cameron gagged as he made heavy contact with the pavement yet another time, and this time he was too disoriented to try and get up. Or he knew that if he tried, it would just be worse. The next phase was just trying to make sure that any injuries he got were minimal. He curled up as best he could, ignoring the pain that wrapped tightly around his stomach in response. They kept kicking him, each one harder and angrier than the one that came before. By the time they stopped, he was biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from screaming.

Eventually they backed off, and Cameron cracked his eyes open, feeling like he was going to throw up. Before he could even do anything, though, a hard grip was latching around his arm. The leader of the group (at this point maybe Mystery just belonged in front of everyone's name— this could be Mystery Prisoner…sounded less 'superhero-y' than Mystery Man) dug his fingernails hard into Cameron's arm as he yanked him off the ground and forced him to meet his eyes. He looked furious. He had a scrape on the side of his face from falling, and Cameron might have felt a little success in that, had it not been for the fact that he probably looked a million times worse.

"You just made a terrible mistake," the man spat, Cameron cringing away groggily.

And yet, for some reason he was still  _literally_  the stupidest person on this planet. "Yeah, I got that part," he groaned, the words barely getting out in the first place. Given that he couldn't really breathe still, they were flimsy and barely there at all. But the guy was so close to him it didn't matter. "I think it really started to set in after the fifth kick…the eighth one might have been a little overkill, though," he wheezed.

The man scowled and shoved him back down to the ground. Cameron hit it with the tiniest of whimpers, but he kept his teeth clenched. "You think you've got some kind of immunity in here because you're the FBI's bitch," he snarled. Cameron wasn't listening so much as he was finally managing to get an actual gasp of air. It stung hard on its way down, like it was made of poison. But at least it was there. "You act like your shit smells better than everyone else's, and you put yourself places you don't belong." He crouched down over Cameron, and before Cameron could do anything to get away, he lined the shiv up against his neck, in clear warning. Cameron did absolutely nothing, just staring up at him. "You walk around here like you own the place," the man growled. "Someone should teach you a lesson."

Cameron's breathing was still weak and hitched. His eyes flickered from the makeshift knife to the person currently holding it. For once he was wise, and he kept his mouth shut. But after a moment, he did look over to the side, where the younger man had been fenced in. He was gone, now. He must have run off in the thick of things. Without thinking, Cameron's lips twitched upwards in the tiniest of smiles, as he realized that he had successfully helped this person. It wasn't Jonathan— heck, he didn't even know his name, just like he didn't know the name of the person threatening him right now. But he'd helped  _someone._ That had to count for something, right?

The man caught his smile and he followed his stare, realizing that the target had gotten away. He scowled, and his fingers clenched tighter around the shiv he was still holding to Cameron's neck. The magician looked back and quickly wiped away his grin, remembering himself too late as he went back to Jonathan's blank expression. The man hesitated over him for a long stretch of time, like he was debating on what he should actually do. Cameron waited, every second putting a harder lump in his throat. It was only a handful of them, but it certainly seemed longer.

Until the man finally withdrew with a disgusted snort, that look still on his face. He glanced at the others, who had been just standing there waiting. The one that Cameron had knocked out was recovered— he could take a punch better than Cam could, it seemed. All of them looked just as angry as their leader, but when he jerked his head, they all departed immediately. Anything more, and it would be a miracle if they would keep going unnoticed. But all Cameron was focused on was that they were leaving. It was a huge wash of relief, and he started to push himself up, grimacing deeply as his body ached and screeched in pain. Every part of him felt like it was hurt.

The lesser ones were making off quicker, but at the last second, the leader of them looked back, scowling at first at the spot his victim had been in before Cameron had butted in, and then down to Cameron himself. By now he was sitting up, one arm planting against the ground to make sure he wouldn't fall, and the other wrapped around his side gingerly. One eye was closed in pain, but he still looked up to meet his stare, and he found himself holding it. Something that he probably shouldn't have done, if he was thinking. Not that he wasn't thinking, but he was thinking about all the wrong things.

He was thinking about how his brother had left him without a single explanation, other than "I don't want to escape with you." He was thinking about how he was stuck here until Jonathan either came back or—  _don't say it don't say it it's not true don't think it_. How he was still covered in the mess of food from this morning, and he still had no idea what he was going to do about it because he wasn't even sure he could do anything about it. How he was getting yelled at and judged for something he didn't even do, that he wasn't even the person everyone thought he was and everything they were thinking about him wasn't even applicable and how  _this is exactly what Jonathan must have thought every single day of his entire life because he had forced him to be someone he wasn't for his own personal gain because he was too stupid to see how much he was hurting._

He was thinking plenty, he just wasn't thinking about anything that would help.

So before he even really knew what he was doing, he was growing angry. Worked up, at himself, but letting it come out to someone else on accident. He found his eyes narrowing just the tiniest bit as he stared at the man that had knocked him to the ground, anger flashing raw over his face. Sure enough, the man's rage only seemed to multiply. It looked like he was five seconds away from abandoning wherever he was going to go and just doubling back to him, to put that shiv right through his chest.

But he didn't. He just scowled hard, something changing in the very back of his gaze. And he turned on his heel to keep walking. He left Cameron behind, still sitting on the ground because he felt too sick to get up the rest of the way. He closed his eyes tightly and exhaled, hanging his head and trying to collect himself.

Trying not to get too angry at himself for messing everything up.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It got dark at night. Which was obvious. But it was also lonely.

He tried to count the positives. It had been twelve hours…that meant that there was only around sixty left before Jonathan came back…or at least got into touch with him. He could call him— maybe he was going to call him instead. But either way, there weren't as many hours as there  _had_ been. And he was given a new set of clothes to wear that  _wasn't_  covered in lunch, so that was good too. And now he could sleep, so that was good too, because he was exhausted.

But it seemed like he was too exhausted to sleep. Or maybe he was just too busy thinking about all the negatives that vastly outweighed the positives. Aside from the most obvious fact that Jonathan still hadn't called him and that with every passing hour he was starting to weaken in his denial more and more, and wonder if he really did have something up his sleeve, or whether he was just screwing him over because he had the right to. Aside from that one— which was a big one. But there were others that just stacked on top of it and made it all even worse.

His body felt like one giant bruise. Every movement, even just breathing, hurt. He'd stopped trying to find a comfortable spot in bed, not only because he was starting to assume that there wasn't one to begin with, but also because the simple act of twisting made him hiss and cringe. He was starving…but just the thought of food made him want to vomit. He hadn't eaten lunch, and he hadn't even gone back to the cafeteria for dinner, he'd just gone back to his cell. And he'd stayed there up until now…he was pretty sure it was midnight. It had to be, going by how dark it was. And how cold.

Cameron was laying in bed, his heart heavy and his eyes slowly beginning to sting, the longer he stared at the wall opposite him. He tried to reassure himself. Like he had been ever since he'd gotten back inside. Trying to persuade himself that everything would turn out okay and that Jonathan still had his back, wherever he was. That he was doing the right thing here, and that he would get through it somehow. He could do it for Jonathan. He owed him that much. Right?

He closed his eyes tightly, feeling a tear trace down the side of his cheek. He quickly reached up and swiped it away, biting down on his bottom lip to ignore the pain that went down his sternum when he did. He turned his head away into the pillow that felt more like plastic than anything else. The blanket wasn't doing much at all for warmth either, and every time he shivered it caused even more pain to lance up his body. All the same, he buried himself away, bringing the blanket up over his nose and cringing hard as he tried to see whether or not he could smell Jonathan and try and fool himself into thinking he was just back home.

_Jonathan has a plan. He always has a plan. He had a plan for the freaking Empire State Building._

_He wouldn't leave me back here. He wouldn't. He couldn't._

_He loves me. He still loves me._

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He felt even worse the next morning. He'd managed to fall asleep sometime around three in the morning, but everyone was forced to get up at six. Because apparently that's the only proper time there is to eat your Frosted Flakes. Which Cameron would have killed for, because whatever it was that was on all the trays looked more like vomit than it did actual food. Coincidental, because that's all he wanted to do. He skipped breakfast again, taking instead to a seat in the far corner and hoping that nobody would even look in his direction. And mostly that there wouldn't be a repeat of lunch from the day before.

He was exhausted, and he was sore. He was tired physically and mentally, and he just wanted to go home. He wanted Dina to greet him with coffee like she always did, and he wanted to see Jordan stagger downstairs at noon because he finally decided to get himself up. He wanted to listen to Gunter rant about the latest political scandal, and snicker about how worked up he got, because he was always worked up. He wanted to get a call from Kay— to see the word 'Partner' light up his phone screen and know it was because she needed his help with some case. He wanted to see Jonathan sitting at the kitchen with a coffee mug in one hand and a book in the other and see him look up from the page only long enough to flash him a welcoming smile.

He wanted his old life back. He didn't want this.

_That's how Jonathan's felt every day for the past year. And that's why he stuck you here._

Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He felt them start to burn all over again. Felt his throat swell.

He looked up from the table in just enough time to catch movement in front of him. It was the person from the yard— the young prisoner that had been harassed. Cameron straightened a little bit, his face falling. The young man had a whopping black eye, and a wrapping of gauze around his arm. He was limping a little bit, and the look on his face was something that hurt Cameron to even look at. Like every scrap of hope had been drained out of him and he was left with absolutely nothing. They must have felt Cameron's stare on them because they roused and turned to meet it.

Out of habit, his expression pulled into one of concern. He tilted his head to the side, and the silent question might as well have been screamed. 'Are you alright?' To hell with whether or not Jonathan would have done the same. He knew that he wouldn't have. Jonathan probably wouldn't have even tried to help in the first place. But Cameron couldn't bear to see the look on this person's face. He didn't even know their name and yet he knew that much. But at the look, they only seemed to weaken all the more. They wilted and crumbled…before Cameron could get up and walk over to them – because the idea was certainly there – they were quickly turning away. Their expression crumbled even more and they ducked away without getting any food. Cameron lost track of them.

His face fell even more. His eyebrows drew together and his hands fisted tightly on his knees. He was about to get up and try to give chase – it wasn't like he was doing anything else, and he wanted to be sure they were okay – when he became aware of something else. The distinct feeling that someone was staring at him, and when he turned towards the pressure, he found himself locking eyes with the man that had threatened him yesterday. That had likely been the reason for those injuries on the younger boy. He was sitting a few tables away, but he was staring coldly at Cameron without a single blink. The look on his face was too difficult and foreign for Cameron to describe, but it made his blood run a little colder than what was normal. It made him stiffen, and even more so when he realized all the people that had been backing the man up yesterday were staring at him in the exact same way.

Cameron's chest constricted and the knot in his stomach grew ever tighter. He had to drag his eyes away and force them to fix solely on the table instead. He felt angry and indignant, but mostly he just felt like he was way in over his head. Helpless and confused, like he had been when he'd turned to Kay in the office and announced that maybe some people just got away with everything, no matter what. That maybe there was never a point. He was starting to think that was truer and truer. Or maybe he was just the problem. Maybe he was just shit at trying to help when it came to anything, because he had all the failures to back it up. Mystery Woman…this younger man who looked like he hadn't even done anything wrong…maybe even his own brother.

Maybe, when it came down to it, the other person wasn't the problem.

Maybe it had nothing to do with whether or not they were too cunning, or too smart.

Maybe he was the problem.

Maybe he was just useless.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He got the opportunity for a call. He held the phone in his hand for what felt like forever, wracking his brain on who to contact. Because he wanted to call everyone. He wanted to call Dina and listen to her complain about something and smile because she called him 'Darling' which he'd never really addressed outwardly before, but always made him feel warm inside. He wanted to call Jordan and listen to him tell some long-winded joke that wasn't funny at all in its punchline or listen to him say something stupid and be totally oblivious to it. He wanted to call Gunter and listen to him tell him how stupid he was and how it was a good thing his head was connected to his shoulders otherwise he'd lose it. He wanted to call Kay and ask her if she was alright. If she was happy.

But he knew who he wanted to call more.

He called himself.

He called his cellphone and he waited tensely with every ring. Every ring, and he waited for it to be picked up. He waited to hear Jonathan's familiar voice, for something to tell him he was in the right here. And with every passing ring, his hope died more and more, until he was simply met with his own voicemail. A bright and bubbly plea to please call back later because I'm too busy to answer the phone right now. Hearing the canned recording caused his heart to twist and pull in severe pain. He closed his eyes and leaned to press his forehead into the wall. He cringed and reached up to pull the phone even closer to his ear. Some part of him wanted to just hang up. And hang up as hard as he could. Take the phone and slam it down on its holder as hard as he could— break it, even, if that was even possible.

But he didn't. He waited until the ending of the message. For the tiny pause, and then for the tiny beep.

When he opened his eyes again, his vision was blurred through a sheen of water. His lips trembled as he listened to the radio silence on the other end. Hoping that Jonathan would still answer. That he was there, and he hadn't actually left him alone. And again, his wheel desperately tried to turn.  _He's doing something right now. He's talking to MW, he's pulling off whatever trick he has up his sleeve, and he just can't talk. He can't give himself away, that's why he isn't answering. He saw me call, he just couldn't answer, but he wanted to, he_ wanted to _, he's thinking about me right now, and he's regretting what he had to do, and he's promising himself that he'll finish this even sooner, and that—_

"I…uh…" He cleared his throat, barely even whispering into the receiver. The smile that traced over his face was watery, and wavering. Conveying nothing but sadness. But he still forced a tiny laugh out as he edged even closer to the wall. Practically cowering against it. "Sorry, I just— I had a question," he managed, his voice hitching. He coughed again. Still only getting silence. "And I guess…you don't have to answer, I guess…I'm not going to get an answer, because—" Words failed him. His voice got higher and higher until it gave out and he flinched, his expression crumbling for just a second.

He took in a large gasp and smiled again as he snapped his eyes open. "Because I don't know how this works!" He tried to pass this off into another laugh, but it was more like a sob. He shook his head and swallowed hard. "Sorry," he chuckled. "I don't…I mean, I did have a question though, a tiny…not really important one, so if you're busy…" He kept smiling, wider and wider, and somehow it just made his sorrow all the clearer.

And sure enough, his voice was practically in pieces when he whispered next: "I was just…going to ask how long you've hated me," he croaked. He paused again, like he was waiting for Jonathan to answer him. To at least give him this. But nothing came. He nodded, still grinning. "Sorry, it's— like I said, it's not…I was just wondering." He sniffed and reached up to wipe at his eyes, his shoulders hunching like he was in pain. "Where…it was exactly I messed up, because…apparently that's all I do. So…that's a new…thing for me, in case you were…wondering what I'm up to. 'Cause I've been wondering what you're up to."

Listening to the silence made it worse. It just made more tears rush forward, and it just made breathing harder. Cameron ducked his head and held it in his hands. He gasped another inhale and pleaded under his breath: "I'm…I'm staying here for— for you…so...please don't…please don't actually be doing this." He flinched again, and he shook his head fast. "Please don't actually be doing this," he repeated. "I know I messed up, I know you deserve more— I know you've  _always_  deserved more, but I just—"

'Thank you for leaving a voicemail! If you are satisfied with your message, please hang up! If you would like to re-record your message, please press one!'

Cameron looked up, gasping again. He was frozen. His chest yawned with pain, and another tear traced down his cheek. For a while he just listened to that dead silence, knowing it was all he was going to get. Knowing that there was nothing on the other end. No hope for an answer, no reassurance that everything was going to be okay. No Jonathan. He wasn't there. He had his phone – Cameron  _knew_ he had his phone, he was one hundred percent certain – but he didn't answer him. And the knowledge may as well have been another kick to his stomach.

He didn't say anything. He couldn't even breathe.

All he could do was turn around and numbly hang up.

Stare at the bricks as they smeared in his vision more and more and try to keep himself from breaking down right in that hallway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He had a visitor. He had no idea who it was. He was just told he had one.

And he had very quickly declined them.

Apparently, that was a right he had. "No, I don't want a visitor," he'd rasped to the guard who came for him in the first place. For good measure, he'd even said: "Please. I don't…really feel like talking to anyone. Right now." Of course, the guard hadn't given one single crap. He hadn't even really needed the second part; he just shrugged and took it, walking back the way he'd come to take the news back to whoever was about to be rejected. Some part of Cameron wanted to follow, if only just to see who it was who'd come. Maybe just a tiny glimpse of them…maybe it would help make him feel better. Just to see.

But he told himself no. He knew himself better than that; he knew that if he saw anyone he'd have an even harder time keeping up the guise. He'd mess up, or they'd see right through him. Dina and them always knew how to tell them apart. They'd tested them one morning, just to see if they could pick up on their switch. It had taken a couple hours, but they had. And in here, they'd probably take one look at Cameron and know it was him. That was just if Jonathan wasn't back with them. Which Cameron wasn't sure that he was anymore.

There was only one visitor he wanted, and he'd asked, as soon as the guard came to fetch him.

"Is it my brother?"

"No." That was where the explanation had ended.

But Cameron hadn't really wanted any more information. It'd just hurt worse than the 'no' had. If that was even possible.

He didn't eat lunch or dinner. He was shaky and weak now, but still the simple thought of food made him ill. And he was sure forcing down whatever slop they were offering would just make him do it immediately. So he didn't bother with it. What he did do was try and find that younger prisoner again. It was all he had at the moment. He literally had nothing else. He wanted to find him and make sure he was okay, maybe offer to help in some way if that was even something he could do. This was something for him to do. Something to focus on so he didn't go crazy or spiral, both of which he was at serious risk of doing.

After dinner, everyone was allowed to go wherever they wanted. Or…probably not wherever they wanted, but Cameron had no idea where they were supposed to go if there was an assigned place. He'd holed himself up in his cell yesterday. But he couldn't find that younger guy hiding out in the corner. He had to figure out where he might have wandered off to. He hadn't seen him in the cafeteria at all for the rest of the day. So once dinner was through and everyone split off, Cameron brought to mind the layout of the building and set to trying to find him.

He kept Kay's voice in his mind.

'Are you done?'

He could feel sorry for himself somewhere else, but not here. Not in headquarters, and not in here. He had to concentrate, and he was going to concentrate on this. He walked through the halls and kept to himself, knowing by now that was the best course of action. He kept an eye out for the other prisoner – the one with the shiv – but mostly he was just trying to keep track of where everything was, and marking them off when every location came up empty. It was a no on commissary. Nope for the gym, too. Hard pass at the lower level bathrooms. Nada in the kitchen. Every attempt was met with absolutely nothing, but by this point the failure had kind of lost its sting.

 _Nice try, universe, but you've literally_ fucked me over _too many times to have this one hurt, too._

Eventually he found him. He was in one of the common rooms, playing checkers. Or…he wasn't playing checkers so much as he was setting up the game over and over again. The instant Cameron found him, he lit up like a Christmas tree, because that was literally where he was in terms of emotional gain. But all the same he let himself inside and skirted around the other inmates until he could stop at the table. "Hey," he greeted, and though his voice was a normal level, the younger immediately went into a spasm of shock, their eyes flying wide and their head snapping up. Cameron was rushing to apologize. "Oh— oh, no, I'm sorry, I didn't— didn't mean to sneak up on you, I'm sorry." He offered him a smile. The younger said nothing; he just stared at him tensely. They were completely rigid, like they were ready to dash off if they needed to.

Cameron blinked a few times, before he looked down at the board. "You need a partner?"

They looked down, too. Their voice was a mere mumble when they replied: "I'm just setting it up."

Cameron paused. He nodded once. "Okay," he said simply. "That's fine." Hesitant, the other started to go back to arranging it all. But his movements were slow, and he kept glancing at Cameron like he was fit to snap and shove him off his chair. He let a few seconds pass in silence before he cleared his throat. "Listen, I was…just wanting to make sure you were alright," he tried. It was difficult to ignore the strange look the other flashed him. "I…saw you this morning," he reminded. "And you looked a little…worse for wear."

"I'm fine," they objected. When he reached out, Cameron saw there was blood in the gauze on his arm.

He studied the board. The crisscrossing squares, alternating and organized. He leaned in a bit closer and lowered his voice. "It's okay not to be okay," he proposed. Again, they threw him a nervous look. Their eyes flickered around to all sides, like they were trying to make sure that there wasn't anyone listening in on them. It just made Cameron even more pained. "I'm sorry," he said, and they went even stiffer. "I tried to help you yesterday, but…apparently I wasn't much help." He paused before he prompted: "Did that guy do this?"

"Please stop," they begged in nothing more than a hiss.

"What's his name?" Damn it all to hell if he didn't know  _this_  person's name.

"Leave me alone," he implored.

"Look, nobody deserves to feel like they're stuck. Like they're…hunted down like some kind of animal. You don't deserve this; I want to help you," Cameron pressed. They grimaced and ducked away. "Let me help you. You think he should be able to feel like he's got the whole world in his hand? He's a bully. And he looks like he can't even tie his own shoes. That's probably why he's got so many people behind him— he needs one person for each shoe. And then a backup if  _that_  guy can't do it." This got a tiny smile to crack over their face. And a brilliant one to spread over Cameron's. "I've dealt with people ten times worse than him," he insisted. "And I've come out on top every…" His eyes flashed. He looked down and drummed a hand on the table. "Nine times out of ten, I've come out on top," he amended, a bit weaker. "Let me get you out of this mess."

They smiled for a few more seconds. Before it fell from their face and they looked back down. "There's no use in fighting Decker," they mumbled. "I've tried. There's no point."

"Decker," Cameron echoed. He pursed his lips and nodded once. "That is a pretty stupid name."

Again, there was a smile. Every time he managed to conjure one, Cameron felt a rush of success. "Stupider than Jonathan Black?"

Cameron's smile fractured. He cleared his throat. "So you've heard of me."

"Everyone has," they murmured. "I mean…you have a…reputation."

"You'd be surprised at what people end up doing instead," Cameron offered, weaker. He took in a deep breath and shook his head. "How about you tell me your name?" he prompted. "Seems unfair you know mine and I don't know yours."

A pause. Then: "Sawyer."

"What's Decker's problem with you, Sawyer?"

Sawyer quieted. His face fell and he looked down at the table. Uncomfortably, he hugged himself. Cameron's chest tugged as he realized that tears were watering to life in his eyes. It caused Cameron's to narrow and his expression to pull. He gave Sawyer time to speak, but eventually he just shook his head. "I don't know," he croaked, and he moved a red checker piece into place. Cameron watched intently. "But it doesn't matter," he repeated. "There's nothing I can do about it. There's no way out. It's impossible."

He sat there for a moment or two, silently contemplating. Looking at the cut on the young man's arm, and the bruises that littered his skin like sprinkles. He had no idea what he'd done to get here. He looked young. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it wasn't. But it was clear by the look on his face that he'd more than done his time. There was no telling how long this had been going on. The resignation on his face seemed to speak volumes. Cameron blew out his cheeks. He resigned himself to it, and the smile grew back over his face again.

Sawyer stopped short, confused as he looked over the board. All the pieces were arranged, but there was a black one missing. He started to turn back up to Cameron, maybe to ask him once more to leave him alone. When he stopped short as Cam leaned over and reached out. Sneaking a hand behind his ear and pulling back to reveal the missing checker pawn. Sawyer's eyes flashed, confusion and amusement mingling on his face. Cameron shot him a smirk, playing the thing over his fingers expertly as he sat back and declared: "Nothing's impossible."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was a shock to wake up in the morning to an escaped prisoner.

Really? Someone  _escaped_  last night? No  _way_ — that's impossible. This is prison, that's the  _opposite_  of this place's goal! That's so unfortunate. And who was it? Him? Really? Hm. Nobody expected  _that_ , did they? Cameron Black certainly didn't, no sir, not at all. But there it was: Inmate Sawyer Johnson had escaped their lovely little prison during the night, and they were really worse for wear because of it. There will now be a Sawyer-sized hole in everyone's heart, that's for sure. But live and let live. That's his motto. Right up next to 'Nothing's Impossible.'

Cameron was quietly on cloud nine. He'd done something good. He'd managed to make someone's life better, not worse. He'd written it all out for Sawyer, down to every last little step. The exact plan he was going to use to help Johnny leave. Or, one of them, anyway. He had multiple. This one was just the one that Sawyer was most likely to be able to pull off by himself on the fly. And apparently it worked. Cameron had never been so happy to wake up to a blaring siren, before. He'd never been so happy to be put on lockdown, and to see all the officers rushing this way and that trying to figure out where in the world one of their prisoners had gotten off to.

On the inside, he was celebrating, but on the outside, he remained as blank as he could. Until lunch rolled around. They were all on lockdown still, because of course Sawyer had not yet been found – spoiler alert, he would continue to not be found, if Cameron's well-drawn out plan had anything to say about it – but they were all still shepherded down for meals. Not that Cameron was any hungrier than he usually was. But he was starting to feel even sicker, so the temptation was actually there to eat something this time. But standing in the cafeteria waiting for the chance, Cameron once again felt someone staring at him, and he turned to see that the culprit was once again Decker.

He looked completely enraged, like he was fit to kill. He was staring right at Cameron. Again, not even blinking. At first, Cameron wasn't sure what to do. He probably should have just ignored him and looked back front. Minded his own business. But he didn't. Instead, he gave him a brilliant smile, and he raised up his hand in a nonchalant wave. Decker's face twisted in even more rage, but Cameron was already turning away. He'd helped Sawyer; that was the end of it. That was all he'd wanted from the very beginning.

Nothing else mattered.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

How many hours had it been? He tried counting them. It had to be…near forty-eight, right? Somewhere around there? He didn't know, he didn't have a clock. It made it kind of hard to discern. However much time had passed, he was still here, and Jonathan still hadn't even called, or answered his phone. Much less come in to apologize about what he'd done. Cameron was doing the best he could in here, but it was only getting harder. He'd managed to choke around seven bites of something down at lunch, but that was around his limit. Now he was just wandering around trying to figure out what he should do until he had to return to his cell. He hated that he was starting to figure out the schedule and actually organize it. He hated this entire situation.

What would be his breaking point?

If seventy-two hours passed and there was still nothing…what then? Was he still supposed to wait?

The only answer to his questions were his own footsteps echoing back to him.

He was alone, but it didn't really count, considering his thoughts were more than enough unwanted company.

As he walked, he got slower, his expression becoming more clouded.

He wanted to go home…

And it would be easy, wouldn't it? A simple scan of his fingerprints— bam, he's out. That would be all it took. And maybe he could convince Kay not to set out a manhunt for Jonathan. They could go find him together— him and her! And the rest of the team, of course. Jonathan had been given enough time to establish something, if he really did have some secret plan— if Cameron left right now, there might just be a chance of it all working out regardless. He'd called Jonathan, twice now, and twice he had given him the opportunity to explain himself. And if there  _was_ no plan, then didn't that mean Cameron had to get out as soon as he could? To help track his brother down before he did something he'd regret?

Cameron didn't want to believe Jonathan was actually siding with MW. But if he was…

Maybe he didn't have to wait seventy-two hours. Maybe forty-eight was enough.

He came to a stop, his heart heavy in his chest. His shoulders hunched.

He couldn't keep waiting. He couldn't. He needed answers, and if Johnny wasn't going to give him any…

Who would he even talk to about that? Just walk up to some random officer? 'Sorry, I know it's been a couple days, I just thought I should let you know that I'm the wrong twin. Please don't scream at me, because I'm also the sensitive one.' That'd really hold up. But they couldn't just ignore him, right? They had to at least—

Something hard made heavy contact with the back of his head, cutting his thoughts off completely.

He barely even had time to register the pain before his eyes were rolling back into his head, and his knees were buckling out from underneath him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When he came back to, he was lying on his side. It took a second for him to drag himself awake in the first place, but when he did, it took even longer for him to get his bearings. He had no idea where he was; he'd never been in here before. It looked like some kind of big supply closet. With brooms and mops and a shelf of stuff like bleach lined up on the other side of the room. Cameron roused and tried to push himself up, before he realized he couldn't. Well— he realized two things. One being that both his hands and ankles were restrained. Two: he had duct tape fixed over his mouth. He could only breathe through his nose. And that was nearly impossible to do properly once you start to panic like he did.

"You're awake." The voice was flat, but Cameron recognized it. His eyes narrowed as he twisted his neck to see Decker lounging against the wall. He tried to get up, but someone standing behind him stomped down hard on his shoulder, forcing him back down with a cry of pain. He scowled into the floor as Decker continued smoothly. "I don't appreciate when things go wrong, Mister Black." Cameron seethed, setting to work on getting his hands free. They were tied in front of him, so it was less undetectable than he'd like. But still, he started automatically. "And I don't appreciate it when people put their nose where it doesn't belong."

Cameron was almost done untying. He could worry about his ankles later; if he could just—

He screamed against the tape on his mouth as another foot came down on his hands the very second he got them loose, even harder. Pain made his blood run hot, and his eyes close tightly. The shoe stayed down hard, planting there to pin his hands against the floor. Trying to fight it would just make it hurt more. Decker went on like nothing happened. "You've been a problem in my prison for too long, Jonathan Black," he mused. Cameron flinched. "Talking to the FBI…stealing weapons back for other prisoners…helping people escape…you think this is your prison. You think you're on top. But you're sorely mistaken." He stomped closer, and Cameron scowled up at him, fighting to take in enough air. Decker's eyes were dark and angry. "It's my prison," he growled.

"You can have it," Cameron tried to say. But the words were lost behind the tape.

Decker ignored him. "But now the FBI doesn't need you anymore. Your little palace is being taken away…along with all your trips out and about. You don't have any more protection, and yet you're still causing trouble. You're still messing things up, just like you were before." Whoever was standing on his hands pushed down on them even harder, grinding them into the floor, and Cameron choked again. Decker crouched so he was more level with him. Cameron's eyes were watering, but he still glared daggers at him. "I've been waiting for you to wise up on your own, but it seems like something has to be done."

The shoe removed itself from Cameron's hands, but as soon as it did, Decker grabbed his right one and yanked it out so his arm was straight, the force behind it nearly dislocating his shoulder. "You should know by now, Jonathan, that there's no room for snitches in a prison," he growled, and Cameron started to hyperventilate as Decker lined up his knife against his skin. He tried to twist and break free, but too many hands were suddenly on him, keeping him flush against the ground. "I heard you were asking Sawyer about me last night— were you wanting to offer your friends at the FBI some information?" Cameron shook his head fast, but the effort was useless. "Maybe I should give you a little bit more to tell them," he went on to muse. "Or maybe this can be your warning to keep quiet for once."

"I'm not Jonathan,  _I'm not Jonathan_!" he was trying to scream. But it was unintelligible.

Decker wasn't listening anyway. And Cameron's screams heightened in volume and desperation when he pressed down on the knife, digging it down into his arm. Cameron screeched as Decker started to drag the blade down through his skin, carving into him like he was a pumpkin. Blood was quick to gush out, hot as it ran down over his wrist to the floor. His body went into spasms of pain as he desperately tried to wrench himself free and yank his arm away from the knife. Decker cursed under his breath and as soon as he did, one of his goons kicked out and caught Cameron directly in the head. It scattered his brain immediately, and he sagged, the shock from the blow enough to render him still for a brief period of time.

Decker finished in this time, and when Cameron dragged his head back forward, expression disoriented and unfocused, his stomach immediately heaved. He felt like he was going to puke. Blood was everywhere, and it only kept coming. It was practically covering the entire lower half of his arm, already. He could barely see anything underneath it, but given how ragged the wound was, he could make it out. The pain was already making his head fuzzy, but he could see the sloppy 'S' that had been carved into him. He closed his eyes and groaned, another wave of sickness crashing against him. The tiniest twitch of his fingers made his entire limb screech in agony.

Decker was watching him with undisguised delight. "How's that for a memento?" he crooned.

Cameron was dizzy. He felt like the entire room was spinning. He was losing too much blood too fast. Something else unintelligible leaked out of his mouth. He wasn't sure it would have made sense even if he hadn't had the tape on. The others were snickering, entertained by the sight. And at Decker's command each one of them grabbed onto Cameron and forced him up. They yanked him into a sitting position and shoved him back against the wall. His eyes were half-lidded by this point. Dully, he was staring ahead trying to keep his head on straight. Mind over matter. If you didn't mind it, it didn't matter. He tried to come back to himself. To get out of this. There was always a way, there was always a way out— nothing was impossible, nothing was—

"I know you were the one who helped Sawyer escape," Decker proposed, slowly following so he could still stand in front of him. Cameron's head started to dip forward; he had to force it back. Force his eyes to stay open. "You thought you could get the better of me. But like I told you before, Rat…you made a terrible mistake. And I think you're going to pay for that right now." Cameron tried to bring his legs up more to his chest, so he could push down and maybe get up to his feet somehow. But the effort was too misguided. He couldn't manage it. "I think it's only fair you replace him."

Cameron tried to stand again, and this time he almost got it. But someone else quickly shoved him back down. Another stomped hard on his arm, right on the 'S', and twisted the toe of their shoe hard. It almost made him pass out on the spot. His throat was going hoarse from screaming. Tears were rushing down his face, and his expression contorted in agony as his back arched. Like electricity was shooting through every inch of him.

Decker drew back and stood. His next instruction was stiff. "Get him on his knees."

This snapped Cameron right into motion. His eyes flew open the very second it connected. He was being grabbed again, and despite the fact his throat was already raw, he started screaming even louder. " _No_!" he shrieked, forcing himself to start thrashing and flailing the second they started to force him up. " _No! Stop! I'm not Jonathan! I'm not Jonathan, I'm Cameron! I'm Cameron Black, I'm not supposed to be here! Stop! Stop! Stopstopstopstopstopstopstopstop—_ " He was cut off with a kick to the stomach. A kick hard enough not only to stun his lungs, but enough to send him slamming back down to the ground. Before he could even wail in pain, there were more kicks and punches. Relentless. Never-ending. Enough to bring him on the verge on unconsciousness— he was almost there, almost there, he was close, he was—

They stopped right before the blackness could swarm his vision entirely. He was trapped in a haze of pain. When they pulled him up again, he couldn't fight them. His head drooped forward as they forced him to kneel. Someone else wrenched his head up by his hair, and the tape was ripped off his mouth. He didn't even notice the sting it left behind— the rest of his pain was too great in comparison. Blood immediately gushed out of his mouth as he choked and spluttered. He was swaying back and forth unsteadily. Decker grabbed him by the chin and yanked his head up to look at him. Cameron could hardly even see anything. "You're not in charge here," he growled. "And you'll take what I give you."

He tried to get his lips to move. "'Mmmm not—" Blearily, he cringed. His mind was too scattered. All he could land on was a pathetic: "Please."

But there was no way out.

It was impossible.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He hurt.

He couldn't move.

He was stuck here.

He didn't even know if he was still bleeding. He didn't care anymore. He just knew it still hurt. Just like everything else did. They left him on the ground, having the decency to stop and untie his ankles before they did. He wasn't even sure when that had been— he might have lost consciousness once or twice in the meantime. Or maybe he'd just stared into the dark and just couldn't tell the difference. It was ages before he could force his body into motion. Before he could weakly push himself up, his arms trembling with the effort and his right one screaming as it was forced to hold weight. He managed it. Cameron got up to his feet and started to stumble forward, holding to his stomach because he was five seconds away from vomiting.

He felt along with one hand until he could grab the doorknob of the closet. Until he could stagger out into the hallway. And head blindly in one direction, because he had no idea where he was. In the moment, he couldn't think clearly. It was all he could do to just put one foot in front of the other and try not to gag with every step. He was crying, not even trying to hide it like he had when he was at the phone trying to call Jonathan. He had to find the nearest wall and lean against it as he walked— his legs were refusing to support him properly. Shock was setting in, and it was setting in hard. Nothing made sense. He tripped and stumbled more and more the further he walked. The entire place was spinning like a top. He kept trying. But eventually it was too much, and he fell.

He hit the ground hard. He started to push himself up, but as soon as he did, his shoulders curled sharply, and his body pitched forward. It finally caught up to him – the sickening feeling he'd had this entire time – and he vomited. Weakly, he choked and gagged, only able to force out mostly water and stomach bile. He had eaten hardly anything since he'd gotten here. He wished there was more, though. Even when there was nothing left to give, he still spluttered like there was, attempting to force out absolutely everything. Once it passed though, he couldn't hold himself up anymore, and he collapsed, his head ringing where it had been kicked. He went numb and limp. Lifeless. He was fading into unconsciousness –  _it's all I want, please let me, please just let me_ – but weak sobs still bubbled out of his hoarse throat.

His thoughts were a mess. Disjointed. Crazy.

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he knows what he's doing._

_It doesn't matter that my brother left me here, because he knows what he's doing_

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is gone, because he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that Jonathan is me here, because he's doing._

_It doesn't matter that my brother left gone, because he knows what he's coming back._

_It doesn't matter that my brother Jonathan is gone left me because here he's because knows he what coming back—_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You have a visitor."

"Is it my brother?"

"No."

"I don't want them."

"Can't refuse this one, Black."

He was looking dully down at his arm, his expression devoid of anything as he stared at the gauze wrapping that was there. And the blood that was spotting through from underneath. He dragged his head up at the reply and blinked slowly, trying to figure out whether he'd heard him right. "Why not?" His voice was in pieces, barely worming itself out of a throat that was much too scratchy. He could barely speak above a mumble.

"I don't have time, Black, just come on," the guard exhaled.

Cameron stayed put. Until he figured there wasn't a point, and he dragged himself up. Pushing off his bed was absolute hell— his face twisted in severe pain, and a pathetic whimper escaped him as he had to hold onto the wall. The guard just watched him blandly, waiting like this was a huge inconvenience for him. Cameron had been found at four in the morning and taken to the infirmary. He'd stayed there until well past noon. He'd just come back to his cell to hopefully never move again for the rest of his life, and yet here he was, already being disappointed.

Which might as well be a thing, because apparently, he couldn't have a  _single fucking thing_  for himself.

The guard turned once Cameron got out of the cell, and he led the way to the visiting room. It was slow going. What should have been a five-minute walk was more like fifteen. Cameron was numb to the snaps to hurry up, though. He just struggled on, clenching his teeth hard on the screams of pain that were trying to get through. By the time they got to the visiting room – Cameron recognized it as one of the rooms he'd met Jonathan in – there was a sheen of sweat on his face, and he was shaking from head to toe. He'd be liable of getting sick again, but there wasn't anything to offer. He just had to sit with the nausea and know there wasn't any getting rid of it.

The guard stepped to the side and took his position by the door. Cameron hesitated against the wall, trying to catch his breath. When he look up, though, the effort went out the window.

He didn't know what he expected when he'd heard 'You can't refuse this one.'

But he'd considered everyone but her.

Kay was sitting at the metal table, already looking at him by the time he finally brought himself to pick his head up. His eyes widened. His stomach fell. She was looking at him with clear concern, and before he could do anything, she was standing up. "Jonathan!" His heart fell ten stories. She looked him up and down in growing alarm. "Are you okay? What happened to you!?"

She made a move as if to rush over and help him, but Cameron quickly flinched, lifting his hand to stop her. He lingered where he was for a second, like he had a chance to turn around and reject her. Stupid hope fostered in his heart, achingly reluctant. Maybe she was there to tell him that they had sorted everything out…? Maybe she was there to tell him he was free, and Jonathan was waiting for him outside, armed with an explanation once they were both in the clear? He pushed off the wall and tried not to limp as he walked over to her. But he couldn't hide the fact that he practically collapsed into the chair with clear gratitude that he didn't have to walk anymore.

She was still staring at him in pain; he didn't offer her an explanation. He just looked off to the side, locking his jaw backwards. Reluctantly, she sat again. She clasped her hands together on the table. "I…heard you didn't want to see Dina, when she came," she murmured. So that was who'd come. He should have guessed. His lower lip trembled just the tiniest bit. He hoped she didn't notice. "They're…very worried about you, Jonathan. There haven't been any calls, any…"

Cameron stayed mute.

Kay ducked her head. She took in a slow breath. "I…wanted to come and tell you that I was sorry." Her voice was more choked than usual. His eyes flickered over to her. Again, his lip trembled just the tiniest bit. "These past couple of days, I've just been… _overwhelmed_ with guilt, over everything. All of it. It wasn't up to me, and I had nothing to do with the decision, but— but Jonathan I am truly so sorry that things turned out the way they did. I wanted nothing more than to help get you out. I never lied about that, not once. I'm so sorry this happened to you."

He closed his eyes and turned back towards the wall.

Kay weakened. She looked down at the table. Her voice was even more strained when she continued. "You don't have to forgive me. I know we were your only chance, and I know we got your hopes up and let you down. I would understand if you didn't forgive me. Cameron didn't." He stiffened. His head jerked up, despite the pain. Kay wasn't looking. "And he deserved to…to say what he did."  _Say? What did he say?_ "And you deserve to say the same thing."  _What did he_ say!? "But…especially after I heard you were rejecting the team's visiting…I had to come down here and speak with you. Please don't punish them for something they didn't do. They're just as upset. And they need you. Now more than ever."

Cameron stayed mute. He just stared at her in silence.

She held his stare, and after a while, she nodded just a little bit. "But that's…that's not exactly why I came. Not totally," she reasoned. "I was…going to ask if you knew where Cameron was." He was gripping his knees tightly, ignoring the pain it caused. "He…a couple days ago, he left. I walked in on him packing, he was upset— saying he had to leave. I tried to pull him back and get him to see reason. I tried to apologize. I…" She trailed off. Cameron realized she was trying not to cry. The pit in his stomach was just getting deeper. "He wanted nothing to do with my apologies. Or…with me." He was going to throw up. "He told me he didn't need any more promises. And…he just left."

Reluctantly, she looked back at him. The shock and horror on Cameron's face must have made sense to her. "Please, Jonathan…if you know where Cameron went…please tell me. I swear to you, if you do know and if you tell me, I won't go after him, or tell him you told me. But I need to know that he's safe. I need to know that he's okay." Tears were building in both of their eyes, now. "I know I messed up, and I wish I could do more for him. For both of you. If you know where your brother is, please tell me."

It felt like years. Until he brought himself to whisper brokenly: "I don't know."

Kay wilted. "You have no idea?"

Cameron blinked.

She frowned. "He didn't speak to you before he left?"

He looked away.

She surveyed him entirely, her eyes narrowing. "Jonathan...what happened to you?"

"Please don't ask me that," he whispered.

Her eyes flashed. They narrowed even more. There was a long stretch of silence, before she tried: "Jonathan, let me help you. Please."

"You can't," he managed. His expression fractured again, and she only leaned even closer. He turned more away, cringing on another jolt of agony. "It's done," he stated, meaning much more than what she was asking about. "It's all done. It doesn't matter."

Kay's eyes flashed. "You're not as angry as I thought you'd be…"

Cameron closed his eyes tightly.

"Cameron…was angrier than you are now."

"I don't want to talk to you," Cameron forced out. He couldn't do this. Not now. Not right now. He was falling apart. He was going to fall apart. Jonathan had packed up. He'd left. He'd told Kay something. He'd done something. He'd run away without telling anyone. Why would he tell Kay something, if he was planning to have everything go back to normal? For the same reason he had knocked him out instead of just asking him to stay behind. The same reason he left without telling Cameron his plan, because there was no plan,  _because there was no fucking plan and this entire time he'd been an absolute idiot for thinking that there was something else other than that and—_

"Jonathan are you alright?"

He was breathing heavily, pain wrapping around his stomach with every gasp. Blackness was edging his vision, threatening to shove him down, and he wanted it, he wanted that blackness more than he wanted anything else, he wanted to fall unconsciousness and never wake up again, never have to face how stupid he'd been, how heartless Jonathan had been, what had happened last night, what was on his arm, what was—

"Jonathan!" Kay stood up quickly and rushed around the table to be at his side. Cameron was trembling, tears beginning to well over now as he gasped for air that wouldn't satisfy his lungs. She reached out and tried to grab his shoulders, but he flinched away from the contact, trying to get her off.  _Don't let her know it's you, try to— there's no point, Jonathan's not coming back— he might though, and if he does I can't ruin it— I can't go back in there I can't go back in there don't make me go back in there Kay get me out of here please get me out of here get me out of here— trust Jonathan, he asked you to trust him— before he stabbed me in the back!_

" _Cameron!"_ He jerked at his name. Shock flared over his numbed expression and he realized his vision was blurred with tears, and that Kay had moved to hold either side of his face, bent down low so that their eyes could meet. At his harsh reaction, her own eyes flew wide, and there was no mistaking the panicked alarm on her face when it registered. "Cameron!?" she repeated. But now there was certainty. She looked at everything— at all his bruises, his bloody arm, and she didn't take her hands away from his face. "Oh my God, Cameron!? What are you doing here!? What happened to you!?"

He couldn't reply. Not even if he wanted to. All Cameron could do was fall apart.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It took less than an hour. Kay was  _that_  pissed. A simple fingerprint, a lot of yelling and they were gone. In the middle of it all, somehow Cameron had faded back into a numbed state. His expression was blank and his stare was dead the entire time Kay was shouting at officers and demanding a change of clothes for him. When she helped him to the car, looping an arm over her neck and holding him gently around his side, he was expressionless and mute. He didn't even flinch every time they stumbled. He was dead to it.

She helped him get into the passenger seat. She even pulled his seat belt over him before she rushed to the other side. All the while, she was apologizing for anything and everything. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, I'm so sorry, I should have come sooner, this is— I'm so sorry, we're getting you home, Cameron. I'll drive you home I'm so sorry." He didn't even blink at any of it. He just watched out the windshield as she pulled quickly away from the prison. Putting as much distance between him and it as she could, as fast as she could.

Silence existed for a bit as they finally got onto the road.

After a while, Kay looked at Cameron, her expression raw with pain. He still wasn't looking at her. "Cameron…do you…do you want to talk about it?" she prompted.

He shook his head once.

She nodded. "Okay." Her voice was still choked. She looked back ahead.

Cameron continued to stare. Dull. In shock. Not even moving. Until his inhales began to puncture. Until his shoulders began to shake and heave. Kay's head immediately was whipping back around to him, just in time to see him collapse against the car door and hold his head in his hands. Before she could even brace herself for what she knew was about to come, she heard it. Gut-wrenching, horrible sobbing, practically ripping itself out of his chest through an already-ruined throat. Quickly, she pulled out of the lane they were in and threw the car into park, stricken as she whirled to her friend.

If this was even her friend. With this crying…with the way he looked…he seemed to be a complete stranger.

"Cameron, Cameron, it's okay," she tried to soothe. He just kept crying, broken-hearted keening that stabbed her heart to listen to. She had no idea what had happened to him on the other side of that prison wall. She didn't even know how he'd gotten there in the first place. She had too many questions. But right now, none of them mattered. What mattered, is that she was there for him now. That she try and help, because God knew she hadn't done much of that at all.

"Cameron, shhh." She leaned over without really thinking, and she put her arms around him. She drew him close, in a tight embrace. It was a little awkward, given that they were in the car. But she didn't care. She just held him, feeling each sob shake his entire body. "It'll be fine, Cameron, everything is going to be fine from now on. I promise. I'm so sorry, Cameron, I'm so sorry."

She thought he wasn't even paying any attention. Until he suddenly moved to throw his arms around her and cling to her almost desperately. He ducked his head down and buried it into her shoulder, his crying growing more muffled, this way. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to choke back the pure anger that was flooding through her system at the thought of what must have landed him there instead of Jonathan. She had to push that aside, too. That was for later— much later. After she got Cameron home, or maybe to a better doctor, and made sure that he was safe. Until he calmed down and got back to himself. That came first.

She would worry about everything else later.

Right now, she was just focused on Cameron, trying to hold all of his pieces together before he broke entirely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this took some time! However, it's a whopping twenty-six pages, so hopefully the length makes up for it...  
> Same deal this time around! I ended it so that it could be a good enough ending on its own. But I still have more, so if people would like to see more of this story, I could do that, too. It's really just all up to you guys. Because I do have another Deception fic going on (It's about halfway done so sorry for that wait as well) so I could keep doing both, or if nobody wants more of this I can just do the one-- it is what it is! I have more planned for this story on the off-chance! A lot of what you guys have mentioned wanting in the comments I have up in my head, so! We'll just see for a third chapter c: 
> 
> I hope you like this chapter! I tried to make it just as good as the first! And I went through the edited the monster even though it's five am and I have to get up in five hours. SO! If I missed any typos, please have pity on me and if there are glaring ones, I'd love to fix them. Along with anything else that might be wrong with this chapter! Thank you very much for those of you who are reading and leaving such kind comments, they all really light up my day! You guys are the sweetest! <3

"No, this is all I know right now."

…

"I have no idea. I went to visit Jonathan to apologize and ask him where Cameron went. But the longer I talked, the more—"

…

"No, no, not at all. No, Cameron couldn't possibly have known. Not by the way he was—"

…

"I  _was_ , but Dina, you have no idea—" Kay had to stop and choke back a swallow. She looked down at the ground and shook her head. Her voice was quieter when she picked it back up. "I took him to the nearest hospital; we're in the emergency room right now. I don't think he wants to stay here for very long, I think he just wants to be home. As soon as we're done here, I'll bring him back, but Dina…"

…

"No, it's…" Kay took in a steadying breath. She glanced over her shoulder, to the bed she had left. Cameron was in the exact same position. He hadn't moved a single muscle. She didn't need to glance back over him for the details; they were already engrained in her mind. How pale he was from blood loss, how his skin was so darkened by his bruises. How his left eye was bright red and would soon turn a sickly shade of black and blue like the others. How his neck was bruised like it had been wrung, and how his voice was basically nonexistent because of that. How the bandaging on his arm had been wet to the touch when her hand had accidentally grazed it. There were more— injuries she couldn't see. But for now, these were the ones she knew, and already they made her sick. "Something horrible happened to him," she finished weakly. "He's _very_  hurt. He needs to get as much help as he can before I bring him back."

…

"Don't. I can just bring him back. I don't think…he's not himself. Right now. If you all come…"

…

"I  _understand_. I'm not saying that, I just…don't want to crowd him. When I got too close to him before, he reacted…badly. I—" Kay swallowed and shook her head. She lowered her voice significantly, which was saying something, because she'd already been whispering before this moment. "I've…worked with countless people that have acted just like he is now, and the first priority was not to overwhelm them. He can get better medical treatment here, hopefully it won't take very long, and then I can bring him back home. If he's home, in a familiar setting, then he'll be able to handle more people at once easier. We just…have to be slow, I…"

…

"Well, no— or…I don't know. I don't think so. It was just a comparison. I…" Her voice dropped even more. Now, she was barely speaking. "At least…I hope it isn't…"

…

"I have no idea," she repeated in a whisper.

…

She closed her eyes tightly. Her hand shook just a little bit as she reached up and pressed it to her forehead. "I'll tell you if I find out," she exhaled slowly. "And if anything changes, I'll let you know. Okay? Tell— …tell Gunter and Jordan. Hopefully we'll be back before too long. But if not…I'll call you again."

…

"I will," she promised. "I will."

…

"Okay. Goodbye."

She pulled the phone away from her ear and hung up with a heavy heart. Her eyes stayed on the darkened screen only briefly, before she dragged them back up. She walked the short distance back to where Cameron was, pocketing her mobile on the way and trying to put Dina's worried voice out of her mind. He was laying on the bed, his eyes half-lidded and unfocused, like he was trying not to fall asleep but failing spectacularly. Her heart was lodged firmly in her throat by the time she got back to him. Once she did, she drew the curtain back so that they were shielded again. It looked like he was more out of it now, but when they'd first gotten here, the mass of people and the hustle and bustle had clearly upset him. So Kay fixed it automatically, even if Cameron wasn't really registering it anymore.

She turned back around once she was through and looked at him closely. "Cameron." Her voice was softer, and more soothing than it usually was. She reached out to put her hand on top of his, but at her touch he seemed to come back to himself more. He screwed his eyes shut in a flinch and moved so that his arm tucked closer to his side. It looked like he wanted to yank his hand away completely, but just wasn't able to pull it off.

But the tiny cringe was enough for her. She got the message and pulled away. And immediately, her heart squeezed in pain and worry, picking up a little bit as she tried to search her friend's face. It brought to mind all the people she'd seen before that had acted this way. All the other victims she'd mentioned working with to Dina. She'd noticed the similarities. They were glowing neon signs, demanding to be paid attention to. With her level of experience, it was impossible for her not to notice the ones that were already there. The cringing away, the easy escalation into panic, the aversion to eye contact, the bruises in somewhat similar areas—

"Cameron how are you doing?" She forced her mind elsewhere. Kay Daniels was smart, and she was never one to ignore something that was right in front of her face. But she found herself ignoring this. Blatantly, and firmly, she was refusing to even acknowledge it. Not right now. Cameron only blinked, a little slowly, before his forehead creased over in a cross between confusion and exhaustion. Kay paused a moment more, to allow him a chance to speak. When he didn't, she changed tactics. "I just got off the phone with Dina," she announced. "She's worried about you…but I explained everything, and I told her we would hopefully get out of here soon enough."

"…Everything?" Hearing Cameron was a struggle. His voice was completely ruined. It was nothing more than a rasp, barely grating out through his throat. The words sounded fragile and weak— like they were made of glass and could break apart in her hands if she held them with too much force. As it was, Cameron seemed barley-aware; his lips hardly moved to create the question in the first place. Kay gauged his expression carefully as he asked this, but she wasn't given much to work with. He'd had the same look on his face this entire time. He looked completely miserable and devoid of any life at all. Like everything had been drained out of him, or it had all slipped through his fingers like sand.

This wasn't at all the Cameron Black she knew. The one she cared so much for. And it ripped her heart in two to acknowledge.

"I told her everything I know so far…" Kay began slowly, still keeping tabs on his reactions. Still, there wasn't much, so she decided to press further. But with extreme care. It was like walking through a mine field, trying to see where the danger was before it was too late and she set it off anyway. "Cameron…can you tell me what happened?" she asked. "Why you were in there instead of Jonathan? Why you're hurt?" Again, Cameron just cringed blearily. She hesitated for a few moments before she forced herself to continue. She didn't want to, at all— at the moment, Cameron needed support and attention, not an interrogation. But this was important, too. She had to at least try. And she would be lying if she said her concern wasn't burning her through from the inside out. "Can you tell me anything?" she pleaded. "Anything at all, Cameron, I just want to help you."

He continued to stare ahead like he wasn't really present. Her eyes flickered down to the gauze on his arm, dark red, and she found herself pressing her lips together tightly to keep composed. It took everything inside her not to reach out and touch his hand again. She knew it would only upset him. When he spoke, it wasn't to answer her question— it was to ask one of his own. One that was completely different. Softly, he croaked: "What…did Dina say?" His eyes dragged over to her with this, and she saw that underneath the initial layer of disorientation, there was a severe kind of sorrow there. They were welling up with tears…she could see the gleam against the fluorescent lights.

It was only thanks to her years of practice that she could keep herself from reacting obviously to the agonizing sight. She forced her expression to remain soft, and her voice to stay even. "She was happy to hear that you were alright," she answered. "The entire team has been worried sick. She was confused…but she was happy. She wanted to come and see you, but I told her as soon as this was done, I would bring you back home myself. I told her to just wait there, and to tell Gunter and Jordan in the meantime. I image they'll be waiting for you right at the door."

Something in the back of his watery gaze broke. He closed his eyes and moved his head back so it was centered again on the pillow. She watched his expression crumble. His voice was already so shot that when he mumbled underneath his breath, it became practically impossible to understand what he was saying. She leaned in closer to try and help, though, and she managed to catch what it was. Though she immediately wished she hadn't. "I want to go home…" he croaked, and his voice was so defeated, it nearly snatched the air out of her lungs. Most likely, judging by the look on his face and the sloppy tone in his voice, Cameron had no idea what he was saying at the moment. Or he was less aware than usual, at the very least. Blame it on the blood loss, and the likely shock of everything that had happened— along with whatever had inflicted those injuries. But out of it or not, the sentiment was real. It was practically palpable. And it hurt just to hear.

"I know, Cameron," she managed, after having to take a brief second to recover. If he was paying more attention, he probably would have noticed how thick her voice was. She was trying not to stare directly at him, because seeing all his injuries just made it worse. "I'll get you home soon, I promise. But you need to be here for a little bit longer, first. You're very hurt." And with this, she forced herself to try again. "Can you tell me what got you so hurt, Cameron?" He closed his eyes tighter, again. When he opened them, he looked down again at his gauze— his eyes kept gravitating there, like he didn't have a choice. "Did someone attack you? Was it another prisoner? What happened?"

The strained look of sorrow and anguish stayed on his face, only sharpening when she kept up with her prying. He swallowed hard and moved his head on the pillow as if to flinch. However, when he spoke, again, it was still off-topic. She barely caught his whisper. "What…did Jonathan say?"

Kay blinked as she pulled back. She weakened with even more sorrow. She wasn't sure what he meant. "I…didn't call Jonathan, Cameron," she explained. "I called Dina. Only Dina." She hesitated before she added: "I don't know where Jonathan is…he left, I— I thought he was you. This entire time, I've been wondering where you were, but you were…" She composed herself and took another deep breath. She leaned a bit more to try and catch his eyes. "Cameron  _why were you in there instead of Jonathan_?" she pressed. "Did you two switch places? Was there a plan? Can you tell me where he went?"

There was no light in his eyes at all; they were completely dulled. Nevertheless, Kay watched as the far-left corner of his mouth twitched upwards, into what had to be the tiniest smile she had ever seen. It began and died there; it didn't leak up into his eyes in any way. "He's…" He exhaled heavily and his eyes slid closed. "It doesn't…matter he left, he's— coming back," he told her. Her stomach dropped at once, with the reassurance, but he was oblivious to her. "He knows…J— Johnny knows what…he's doing. He's coming…back he's coming back. For me." The longer he spoke, the softer his voice got, until eventually his lips were moving without sound. She leaned in to try and make out what he was saying, but it was a fruitless effort.

The lump in her throat was getting bigger and bigger. "Cameron did you say Jonathan left you there?" she rasped. When Cameron still only mumbled to himself, she tried again, louder this time. "Cameron, were you and Jonathan working together? Or did he leave you like this?" Still, she got nothing in return. Her chest constricted and she reached out to touch his arm, noticing the flinch that ruined his expression immediately upon contact. "Why didn't you call me?" she implored, her voice fracturing. It had been almost three days, why…? "Cameron, why didn't you call anyone?" she begged, quickly losing control of herself the longer he refused to answer. "Why didn't you tell anyone at the prison? You could have—"

"He's coming back!" Cameron croaked, his voice breaking in two. He tried to raise his voice into a yell, but with his throat, the effort only got him speaking at a relatively normal volume. Still, it was enough to cause Kay to flinch backwards, and harshly. He refused to look at her, keeping his eyes forward instead. And before Kay could say anything, he was quickly crumbling into pieces like he had back in the prison. He closed his eyes as tightly as he possibly could, and clumsily, he started mumbling under his breath again. She could only catch little snippets. The words went from being clear, to being too soft and choked to be picked up. "He's…wouldn't leave me, he…" He cringed. "He l— I'm waiting, he's— …I couldn't do anything, I tried to— I couldn't— they wouldn't—"

"Shh, Cameron, shh." Her eyes were raw with pain. She could practically feel every one of his injuries, she was in so much pain seeing him in this state. He grimaced again, but some part of his expression was beginning to melt back into groggy apathy. Even so, his lips were still moving like he wanted to go on. She was almost tempted to let him, if only to try and get some answers. But she held herself back, and just soothed him. Prying them out of him now was just heartless, and she couldn't even be sure they would be accurate as it was. She resigned herself to this. "Don't worry, Cameron, okay?" she proposed instead. "We'll figure it all out later, I promise. We can talk about all of this later. When you're ready. We don't have to do it right now."

To her relief, he quieted. His face relaxed and the tension melted out of his shoulders. It was like nothing had even happened. She started to try and say something else, maybe to help him stay calm. When the curtain was pulled back and a nurse stepped into their little space, bright-eyed and smiling. Much too bubbly in contrast to Cameron's state. "Sorry that took me a bit!" she chirped. "But I've got his blood type now, and the lab is making sure it's all correct. Then we can start the transfusion." She turned, sympathy and pity alike mingling in her gaze as she looked down at her patient. It made Kay's stomach churn unexpectedly, to see. "Sir is it alright if I take this off?" she asked gently, already reaching for the gauze on his arm. "I can clean that up for you a bit more. You might need stitches, unless you pulled the ones you were given already…"

Cameron didn't react. The nurse nodded once and reached out, gingerly moving his arm closer to her. A weak mumble escaped his lips. Kay kept her eyes on him tensely. The nurse set to work undoing the wrapping on his arm, her face growing a little pinched as the injury was revealed. Kay looked down as well, and immediately she had to fight not to look away. Or at the very least, she had to fight to keep her stomach at bay.

The wound was awful. It was smeared thick with blood still, and it looked painfully deep. But that wasn't the part that truly flipped her stomach. What truly brought bile to rise up in the back of her throat was the fact that the wound was shaped in a twisted 'S.' It was sloppy and jagged, but it was readable all the same. It was like someone had taken a knife and cut it right into his skin. Kay was floored, her mind going blank as she just stared at it in shock. The nurse was more composed, however. She kept the smile on her face and just said simply: "Looks like medical glue isn't enough for this injury…surprised they even tried. I'm afraid we're going to have to do sutures…"

Cameron didn't react. He might not have even heard. He was getting groggier and groggier with every passing second. Kay found herself reaching out and placing her hand down to rest lightly on his uninjured arm. He didn't react to that, either. But at least he wasn't shrinking away from her anymore. As the nurse got to work setting the gauze aside and cleaning the injury, she watched with a heavy heart as Cameron cringed absently and cried out under his breath. A couple times he tried to move as if to take his arm away, but he couldn't manage it. He was bordering too far on the edge of unconsciousness to do anything of the sort. Kay found herself trying to soothe him anyway, running her thumb gently back and forth across his arm.

The nurse took to work in silence now. She must have realized that there was no use in trying to keep up kind conversation. She spread a numbing agent over the wound to make it less painful when she began to stitch. However, eyes were drawn elsewhere before she could, and a frown traced over her face. She leaned over and picked up the hand of the arm Kay was holding to. Immediately, Cameron yelped, wincing as he looked even closer to getting sick. She put it back down immediately, doing the same to the other one. Again, she got the same response. "Did you hurt your hands, sir?" she asked. Cameron didn't respond, and she looked questioningly at Kay, instead.

Kay's throat was thick. She shook her head. "I…I don't know," she all but whispered. The effort had already been made by hospital staff to ask Cameron what all had happened to him. He, of course, hadn't been any help. Kay could only offer what she knew, and what she expected. But this was a question mark. Just like a majority of it was.

The woman hesitated, clearly troubled. Before she remembered herself and pasted that smile back on her face. "We'll get some x-rays," she reassured sweetly. "I'm not too sure about the other one, but I think this one might be fractured." She paused, shuffling her feet. She proposed slowly: "I really do think it might be a smarter decision medically if he be admitted," she tried, a bit weaker. "I know you said you would rather him not be, but especially with a blood transfusion, we usually—"

"He doesn't want to be admitted," Kay broke in. "He wants to get home as soon as he can."

"I understand," she returned. "But these are injuries that could need observation— it could just be a night and nothing more, just to make sure everything is alright. He has head injuries that might—"

"If these are injuries that can be treated and taken care of outside the hospital, that will be what's best for him," she insisted. "He wants to be home." She looked down at her friend and weakened when she realized that his head had fallen to the side, towards her. He was staring dully at her hand, still on his arm. His eyes were barely open, but when they blinked, she saw a tear trace its way down the side of his face. It just made her all the more certain. "He'll be taken care of, where he's going. He'll be watched like a hawk, I know he will. Unless it is  _absolutely_  medically necessary he stay here…"

The nurse pursed her lips. She hesitated, before she took in a slow breath and looked back down at Cameron's arm. She seemed torn. Eventually, she tilted her head to the side. "We'll see," she reasoned. "I'm sure the doctor will have a better answer for you."

Kay nodded. But privately, she told herself that wouldn't be a difficult leap.

Any answer would be better. Because at this point, she had absolutely none.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was  _hours_  before they were able to leave. Kay stayed with Cameron the entire time; she didn't leave him once. Throughout the entire thing, he stayed out of it and unfocused; he was so exhausted, he was going in and out of dozing. He must not have slept at all when he was away. It was good because it kept him from really focusing on everything. All the nurses and the doctors and the tests. Whenever he did come back to himself, Kay would recognize it immediately; he would shift and flinch from the pain, or unwanted contact. He'd try and move away, and Kay would try to console him as best she could, reminding him where he was and what was happening. More than enough times, he'd met her efforts with a tiny "I want to go home." Every time she'd replied and reassured him that they were, her voice was thicker and thicker.

Hours later, and her promise was finally able to be acted upon. Cameron's body had not rejected the blood transfusion; the staff had made sure of this. His ghostly paleness was gone, and a healthier flush was back to his face. The cut bridging his forehead was sealed and covered with a gauze patch, and the horrible carving on his arm had not only been cleaned and disinfected, but it had also been stitched to the best of the hospitals' abilities. His left hand had turned out to have a fracture; it was going home in a cast. His other one didn't have an actual break, but they were told to be careful. His ribs weren't broken either, just bruised, so bedrest was heavily recommended. Bedrest was also cautioned for his head, and they were told should any negative symptoms arise, they should come back immediately.

The hospital was not happy they were refusing inpatient treatment. But given they could not force it, they had just let Kay depart with a laundry list of precautions and instructions. To change the wrapping on his arm frequently, to avoid infection. To give him only certain painkillers and limit their use as much as possible. This and much more, she took down to tell the team. Kay had paid close attention as they did everything, not saying a single word. Until she had broken her silence and followed after the doctor who was in charge of Cameron, and quietly put in her own request.

With clear trepidation and obvious reluctance, she had asked him if it was possible to test for STDs, or if he had already done so.

Of course, it hadn't been up to her. She didn't have power of attorney. It had all been up to Cameron.

The doctor must have gotten some kind of compliance from him. Maybe he had waited to ask purposefully until Kay had stepped away to answer another one of Dina's calls. Because they had been sent home with precautionary antibiotics and the promise that the results of the tests would come shortly. Kay had pretended not to hear— but Cameron hadn't been paying much attention himself. Once he was patched up – much more patched up and healed than he had been in in the prison – Kay had once again helped him up gingerly. The hospital offered a wheelchair for the trip out, and at first, she had been inclined to reject it and just help him shuffle along like she had when they'd arrived. But by that point Cameron had been more than exhausted. And she'd known putting the strain on him to walk would be heartless. So she'd accepted the wheelchair and helped him to the car that way.

The ride back to the Archive was a silent one. Cameron had collapsed with gratitude into the passenger seat, and he had proceeded to immediately fall asleep again against the car door. Kay had turned the radio off and not made a single noise the entire way. Which was good enough, because she wasn't even sure she would be able to say anything even if he was awake. As she drove she'd been silent, her face ashen and her expression stricken as she glanced over at him every so often. Thinking about every single one of the injuries she'd seen. Everything she'd been told to do in order to ensure his recovery. The way that the doctor had only nodded gravely when she'd asked about the additional testing, seeming completely unsurprised by her own drawn conclusion. Because they'd seen the same signs she had and had likely been planning to propose it anyway.

They reached the Archive and Kay had plastered that smile over her face again. She'd leaned over to Cameron and gently put her hand down on his shoulder. At her touch, he'd immediately stiffened, and his eyes snapped open a little faster than she'd anticipated. When he'd whirled around to look at her he was still disheveled and confused. Barely-there. To her credit, she'd kept the grin in place. "We're here, Cameron," she'd announced gently, and Cameron had just stared at her, like he was still trying to sort out where he was in the first place. "You're back. You're home."

Getting up to the door was a struggle. At this point, Cameron wasn't able to contribute much in any way at all. His steps were just stumbles, and every time Kay had to catch him, he cried out underneath his breath, in tiny hitched sobs. He could hardly walk— it was all just feeble limps. She apologized with every fumble, feeling worse and worse with each passing one. They finally made it, though, and when they did, and when Kay reached over to ring the doorbell, they were met with exactly what she'd been expecting. The door flew open practically before she could lower her arm. Dina was on the other side of the threshold, holding tightly to her phone in her other hand, like she was still waiting for Kay to call, even though she was right in front of her now.

"Cameron!" The cry escaped Dina's lips immediately. From behind her, Gunter and Jordan were rushing up from the couch, both stricken with more than a lifetime's worth of alarm when they laid eyes on him. Kay shot them all a warning look that was fit to kill, as she practically propped Cameron up, and made sure he wouldn't fall. If she let go of him, he certainly would. At Dina's yell, he cringed blearily, but picked his head up after some hesitation. He was still muddled, but the moment their eyes connected he must have gathered a bit of himself back. A worn smile traced over his face, and Dina's expression fell as she realized his eyes were welling with tears. Already, she looked like she was becoming overwhelmed. "Oh, darling…" she choked, her lips trembling as she stepped forward to wrap him into a gentle hug.

He didn't draw away from the embrace; this was good, because he wasn't able to stand by himself as it was. Kay hesitated to make sure, but ducked to the side after a moment's pause, untangling herself from him and letting Dina do the supporting he'd need. She took the task without any hesitation, and Cameron moved his good arm to hold fast to her, too. He was shaking— Kay could see it from where she stood. And after a heartbeat, she heard a muffled sniff from where his head was buried into her shoulder. She looked away, her heart too injured. Gunter and Jordan had stopped a little bit behind Dina. She saw that they were both staring at Cameron in shock, like they had never seen him before.

And likely, they hadn't. Not  _this_  Cameron. Kay certainly hadn't, that was for sure.

Dina held him carefully, in a way that let him balance to the best of his ability but ensure his footing at the same time. Her eyes were misty but she was much tougher than people oftentimes gave her credit for. She kept Cameron close with one arm and used her other to rub comforting circles on his back, keeping her touch overly gentle, like he was a glass figurine that could shatter at any moment. Cameron kept crying, and she kept soothing him easily. Maybe after all her conversations with Kay she had expected a return like this, and that was why she was doing so well. Maybe it was just second nature. Either way, she was doing so without a single bit of hesitation. "You're alright, Cameron, you're okay now," she reassured. "It's over, darling, it's all over. I promise…"

When Gunter broke out of his stupor, he did so quickly, and abruptly. He whirled around to Kay, and when he spoke, his voice was nothing more than a low growl. She might not have heard him, if he hadn't gotten less than two inches away from her. "What happened?" he all but spat, and Kay closed her eyes to will herself patience. "What happened to him— why was he in there?  _What's going on_?" He had none of these answers and therefore no information whatsoever. But it seemed as though he was already plotting the death of whoever was the root cause of this issue. Like he was trying to map out the best way to rip them limb from limb that would permit the most suffering possible.

Dina's eyes flickered over to Kay with the inquiry, and Jordan was just as obvious an audience, once he was finally able to rip his startled gaze away from Cameron. Cameron was quieting now and stilling all over again. He needed a bed— a proper sleep, that wasn't disturbed by questions or painful procedures and diagnostic tests. Kay breathed out slowly, "I'm still not sure," she managed. Immediately, she had to ignore the dissatisfied scowl that came over Gunter's face. "Cameron…was trying to talk in the emergency room…he said that…Jonathan left him in the prison." The trio was completely silent, looking at her in frank disbelief. She ducked her head and shook it with a grimace. "I think he…forced Cameron to switch places with him somehow. The person I talked to that was leaving three days ago…that was Jonathan, just…pretending to be Cameron. I think he…forced Cameron to switch places with him and ran off. It would make sense. After waiting for his freedom for so long and then being refused it again…I think he just decided to take it himself."

"Jonathan wouldn't do that," Gunter blustered. He turned, looking at Cameron. It was hard to tell what he was more: furious or sickened. "Jonathan would never do this to Cameron," he pressed after a heartbeat of silence.

Kay followed his gaze, her own weighing about a million pounds. She didn't want to argue. Not right now, and not in front of Cameron. She had already seen him get upset at the mention of his brother once; she couldn't bear to hear it all again. He needed rest and something to eat and drink. He had been severely dehydrated at the hospital— they had given him saline to counteract it. She needed to pass on everything to the team, so that she knew when she left, she would be leaving Cameron in good hands. Her voice was flatter and crisper when she spoke. "We're going to sort through all of it later," she said, ignoring Gunter's glower. "For now, Cameron needs to be taken care of. He comes first."

"Of course," Dina murmured, still making sure he was steady. At this point, she was practically taking most of his weight. Kay was relieved when she saw the somber understanding that was on her face. And the relief only multiplied when she spoke. "Gunter, can you help him get to his room?" she asked, rousing him out of whatever mental reverie he seemed to have gotten stuck in. "Is that alright, Cam?" She asked this just to be clear, but the question was fairly pointless. The answer was already there, plain as day. Cameron was practically asleep on his feet, standing against her. He was confined to bedrest as it was, per recommendation by the hospital. And sleep seemed to be on the top of the list when it came to what he needed the most. Everything else could be handled later.

Gunter couldn't argue. Kay watched as he went over to the pair and separated Cameron from Dina. It was hard not to notice how uncharacteristically gentle he was with Cam as he paid special mind to his injuries. "C'mon, then." Even his voice was softer. Cameron flinched as he was forced back into motion, but he must have known better than to object, or he was simply too far gone to. He let Gunter lead him away, taking shuffling, baby steps that didn't get very far. Gunter was patient, and he could support him much more than Dina or Kay had been able to. "Let's get you to bed," he continued. "You look like you could use a nice, long rest. It'll come easy to you, I bet." Cameron didn't respond. His head was hung low so his chin was to his chest. The more they walked, the less his legs moved and the more Gunter had to hold him up.

The other three lingered in the living room, all with mirrored looks of sorrow and pain as they watched them slowly retreat down the hall.

For a long while, they just stood in silence. There was too much to say, too much to think about for conversation to exist. Kay was reeling from the day. By now it was late, and she was drained. There was no imagining how Cameron felt. There was no imagining any of it, though. She could feel Dina and Jordan staring at her, and when she turned to see the looks on their faces, the questions they had were obvious. She had to take a deep breath and steel herself before she could say anything at all. "I still don't know what happened," she said, picking the easiest question of theirs to answer. Again, she tried to ignore their blatant disappointment. "Like I said…I think Jonathan tricked him or…persuaded him to switch places. I think he's been in there for these past three days just…waiting for him to come back. Not wanting to get him into trouble, maybe…"

And she could see that plainly. She could see Cameron resigning himself to the entire situation, simply because he thought it was the best thing for his brother. Reflecting on it now, there wasn't a doubt in her mind that at least something along that line had been the case. In fact, she was  _furious_  at herself for not thinking of this sooner. How had she not noticed that it had been Jonathan she'd confronted, and not Cameron? How in the world had she ever believed that Cameron would regard her with such hostility and open resentment? Even if he'd been angry about MW getting into witness protection, she should have known that it wasn't Cameron she was looking at. She should have visited the prison sooner, she should have done  _something_  sooner. Maybe she could have stopped whatever happened to him, if she had. Maybe she could have saved him.

"He looks terrible," Jordan whispered after quite a long stretch of silence.

"He has..." Kay took in a shivering breath. "A few of his ribs are bruised…when we got to the hospital he was severely dehydrated and malnourished. He had a few injuries to his head, and a lot of bruising. He was strangled…he can't talk very loud at all, it mostly comes out as a whisper. One of his hands is fractured, and he…" She had to do another slow inhale. "On his right arm, there's what looks like a knife wound. A…carving of an 'S' in his skin; it was deep, he had to get stitches and a blood transfusion." Dina paled immediately at the mental image. Jordan was unresponsive in his shock. "That was one of the bigger problems. The hospital told me all the things that need to be done to help him, and one of them was to change his dressings frequently."

Dina was crying. Silently, so it wasn't obvious until she spoke and her voice came out thick. "Is he okay?" she cried, turning and looking back the way Gunter had lead Cameron.

Kay sat with the question for what felt like ages. Until she felt her throat swell and her eyes burn. She gave a singular, jerking shake of the head. "No, no, I…I don't think he's okay at all," she answered honestly. Dina looked back, heartbreak clear in her eyes. Kay could barely bring herself to meet her stare. "The only reason I realized it was him in the prison was because he broke down in front of me…crying, hyperventilating…he looked like he was going to faint. Then he just…shut down. I've never seen him like that before.

"He's been through so much…by the time we got to the hospital he was completely out of it, like he is now. I think half of it was because he'd lost so much blood. But…when I tried to ask him about Jonathan, he got very upset. He would have yelled at me, if he could. I think…" She shook her head. "I don't know what to think," she reasoned. "I tried to get answers from him, but eventually I stopped. I'll come back tomorrow, and I'll ask him then. But he was in so much shock and pain— there wouldn't have been any use in trying to get answers out of him now." And she couldn't bring herself to in the first place. She didn't add this part on, but it was clear by the look on her face.

"How could Jonathan  _do_  this?" Dina croaked.

"We don't know that he did." Of course Gunter was the one to dole out this support. He was walking back down the hall, and at the question, his eyes narrowed into slits. His voice and expression alike were hard, leaving little to no room for anything even close to doubt. Dina looked at him and her eyes flashed, but he was firm on his point. "Jonathan wouldn't do anything like that to Cameron; we don't know what happened and until Cameron tells us, we can't go pointing fingers."

Jordan's lips pressed together. He didn't argue out loud, but the disagreement was written on his face for everyone to see. Still, when he spoke, it wasn't to object. Instead, it was to ask: "Is Cameron okay? Is he sleeping?"

Gunter's anger melted away at once with the inquiry. Like it was snow on a hundred-degree day. He sobered and looked down towards the ground. "He was asleep before he even hit the bed," he replied heavily. "I kept the door open, just in case." This already was proving Kay right. Just as much care and consideration would be given here than if they had been in a hospital. His injuries were severe, but they were still able to be taken care of at home. With a staff of three that would be hovering over him and paying attention to his every little detail. He was in good hands, with them. He always had been. They would do anything for Cameron, she knew; so she knew that when she left, she wouldn't have to waste a single second wondering if he was alright. He would be.

However, she still had a couple things she needed to do.

She started with the easier task first: filling them in. She told them what had happened in the hospital, and what the staff had told her. She told them every little thing he needed, and how to do it. It wasn't much, but the list was thorough, and it covered every possible base. She made sure they knew he was to be on bedrest, and how he had to eat as soon as he got up because it looked like he hadn't had a single thing the entire time he was away. How he had to stay hydrated, how they had to make sure his stitching stayed clean and the dressings never stayed on for too long. She gave Dina her number and asked her to call her if anything changed but promised she would be back to help as soon as she possibly could. She asked them to please not try and wrench any answers out from Cameron. If he offered them information, that was fine, and they needed to pass it off to her, but she recommended that they not push. They were Cameron's friends, and he was in a sensitive situation. If he needed to see anyone as 'safe' to be with and trust, it was them. And that would be ruined if he woke up to an immediate investigation.

"And that…brings me to that last thing," she exhaled, reaching back into her pockets. She straightened and produced the bottles of medication. They all stared at it like they'd never seen pill capsules before in their life. "The tests haven't gone through yet; they said they would call with the results as soon as they knew. But until then…he needs to take these every morning just in case." She handed them over, still feeling their weight in her hand even as she passed them off. She tried to find the right words. "I  _need you to understand_ …he's going to need you three. More than me, more than anyone else. And…this is why you can't push him for answers. This is why you can't do anything but be there for him and  _listen to him_."

"What are these for?" Jordan asked. The labels may as well have been written in Latin.

Kay's eyes flickered down the hallway, like she was afraid Cameron would be eavesdropping. Even though she knew one hundred percent he was long gone, and likely to sleep well into tomorrow, if not the entire day. Her words were slow and filled with regret. "They're to act against STDs," she forced out, and at once all three of their heads snapped up. Dina clapped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes immediately filled with even more tears. Jordan kept that look of confused shock, and after a heartbeat of fostering the same expression, Gunter's face clouded over with pure rage. He held the pill bottle in his hands about ten times harder. So much so Kay was worried the plastic would crack.

"I didn't ask him, of course…he was too upset and disoriented. But I've seen enough victims." She was fighting to keep herself composed. Trying to ignore how the word 'victim' tasted like acid on her tongue when in reference to her friend, who was usually smiling from ear to ear. Who never wanted to do anything but help the person nearest to him, or at least stun/bother them with some unasked-for magic trick. "Every time anyone tried to grab his arms or his hands, he yanked himself away. He was very sensitive to crowds, and at the prison he couldn't even look at me for very long. He has bruising on his neck and his wrists and his hips…I asked him what had happened to him when I still thought he was Jonathan, and he begged me not to." Her stare was empty and hollow. She realized a tear was about to fall and quickly ducked her head, brushing at her eyes and trying to pass it off as a nose scratch instead.

She looked back up again and forced herself to take a calming breath. To ignore the looks that were on her friends' faces as they stared at her. She already felt like she was sick— the way they were looking at her now just made it worse. "We're going to find out what happened," she vowed. Nobody looked at all certain. "We're going to find out what happened to Cameron and help him. And I'm going to find Jonathan." Her voice fostered just the hardest bit of edge with this promise. "We're going to fix this. I promise you. Everything's going to be just fine."

Silence met this sentiment.

Until Gunter only scowled more and declared: "The FBI is the reason we're in this mess in the first place."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She came back the next night, rushing to the Archive like it was on fire and she had the last bucket of water in the world. The day had been hectic, and strained. Trying to explain it all to Deakins with the limited knowledge she had in the first place was a trial in itself, and when she could only fumble for answers to questions that hurt too much to even listen to, it only made it worse. And of course, it hurt to be yelled at for being so blind as to let Jonathan walk off and know that she deserved the admonishment one hundred percent. Because he  _had_  been right in front of her, and if she had just been thinking a little bit more, she could have maybe stopped him. It had hurt to feel the glare her superior had shot her and know that Cameron deserved to be the one giving her such a poisonous look.

She'd told herself the very second she got off of work she would flock to the others again. Even if it just meant she could be there for a few hours because she had to go right back and help track down Jonathan. They hadn't managed it yet, and she knew without a doubt in her mind that she wouldn't be able to sleep until that changed. Until he was brought back and he had to answer for whatever it was that he did. For now, though, she just had to get to Cameron. A majority of the reason being that she just had to see how he was doing still. But this was also an opportunity for answers.

A different set of answers. Answers she didn't want to hear. But…answers all the same.

She'd been on her way out when Mike had stopped her and asked if he could come along. She had almost refused, for some initial reason. Her gut had instantly wanted to make her open her mouth and reject him. But she had stopped herself before she could. She'd seen the look that was on Mike's face, and she'd known that he was just as concerned as she was. And he was concerned about Dina too. She couldn't have told him to stay behind. And she had given her report on Cameron's state to everyone back the office— he knew he had to take it easy. She hoped there wasn't a harm in him coming along.

When she knocked on the door it was less than five seconds until someone was opening it. Jordan was on the other side, exhausted and strained. When he saw Kay, he put on a little bit of a smile. "Oh, hey." He looked at Mike and brightened even more. "You brought a party with you. It's about time." He stepped aside and let them in. Gunter was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his head in his hands. When the two of them came in, he straightened up. His expression was stony. Dina wasn't anywhere to be found.

Neither was Cameron.

"How is he?" she asked tensely. No hello. Just right to it.

Gunter could only hold her stare for a few seconds. He offered no answer. He just looked away. Jordan volunteered to take up the task. "He's still in bed," he sighed. "Dina's been in with him the most. She left a while ago to try and get him to eat dinner…he didn't really have much of anything else. He hasn't been hungry." She still stared at him expectantly. He took in a slow breath and cleared his throat. "He hasn't talked much at all, either. We haven't asked him about…anything, though. It's just…in general…he won't talk." A little more hopefully, he added: "He's not as out of it as he was last night. He's more like his old…" He trailed off, his expression flickering. He didn't try and finish.

Kay attempted to move on. "That's…good he's still in bed, he needed the rest. I can try and help Dina…but I…I have to try and see whether or not I can get any answers out of him…" Gunter frowned with this. She immediately tried to justify herself. Not that it was needed in any way. For some reason, she just felt like it was. "We need to find Jonathan…and figure out what he's trying to do. He's already gotten the chance to run for four days now— he could be anywhere. MW escaped witness protection, just like—" The words died on her. Her chest pulled painfully. "Just like Cameron said she would," she finished softer. "We have to find them. Especially if they're together. If they're doing anything, if they're—"

"You think Jonathan ran off with the mystery woman?" Gunter asked, scorn edging his words.

Kay hesitated. Her response came drenched in hesitation. "It seems way too coincidental that this has all lined up the way it has. Maybe—"

"You think Jonathan would throw Cameron to the dogs to go run away with the woman that caused all this trouble in the first place?" Gunter pressed. Kay closed her mouth, knowing no matter what she tried to say, he would just ignore her. He smiled, but it was a grin filled with anger and indignation. "I can't believe you," he scoffed. Kay kept silent and in check. Mike, on the other hand, was getting stiffer at her side. "You know, I said from the  _very beginning_  that you lot wouldn't do a  _single thing_  for us. Cameron thought different, but I saw you for what you really were! This whole thing happened because you didn't help Jonathan the way you promised, and now here you are, still trying to pin him with some kind of blame!"

Jordan tried to come to her aid. "Gunter, maybe she has a point…"

"You really think Jonathan would do this to Cameron!? For the woman that framed him for murder in the first place!?" Gunter roared. Jordan grimaced as he ducked down. " _Seriously_!? You've got to be joking! Both of you are mental!" Kay took a step forward and started to say something, but she quickly jerked backwards as he turned to round on her. This time Mike's arm went out to plant between them. But Gunter wasn't paying attention. "The only person with blame here is you! Both of you!" He jabbed a finger in Mike's face. " _You've_  hated Jonathan from the very beginning! Of course you would try to find a way to make him out to be the bad guy!" he snapped.

Mike started to reply, but Gunter was whirling back to Kay before there was a chance to. "And  _you_!" Kay clamped her lips together, her hands fisting at her sides. "You act like you care, but if you did, you wouldn't have let it get this way in the first place! You would have done something!" She was rigid, her eyes narrowing gradually. "And you come in here acting like you know what's best for him— telling us how to 'handle' him, as if you've known him for more than two months!" This one hurt. Her eyes darted to the side. Mike started wedging himself between them more. "You don't know him like we do! You don't  _care about him_  like we do! You've got no right to waltz in here and—"

"Gunter,  _stop_!" Jordan pleaded. "You can't just—!"

"You've only used him for your own personal gain this entire time!" Gunter snapped. "All you've done is have him help you with all the cases you weren't able to figure out, hanging Jonathan's freedom in front of him like it was a bone and yanking it away whenever he got too close!" He leaned even closer. "Well, how does it feel now?" he growled. "How does it feel to know that you got what you wanted? That your FBI was sitting pretty with someone on the inside, and you didn't even have to waste your time holding up your end?"

"This wasn't  _at all_ what I wanted!" Kay burst, her heart going into a spasm when she realized how tight her voice was. "I  _do_ care about Cameron— I—"

"How can you stand there and pretend this isn't on you!?" Gunter roared, and Kay looked away. "How can you look at him now and not—"

"Gunter, that's enough!" Mike yelled. He was livid by now, and apparently this was where he drew the line. "It's not anyone's fault! The blame isn't on anyone in this room, it's—"

"Right, because it's all Jonathan's!?" Gunter demanded. Mike clammed up at once, though he looked like he was two seconds away from bursting out an agreement. This hint was all the encouragement Gunter needed. "No, can't blame anyone  _here_ , because the man you  _usually_ blame everything on is out somewhere else!" He shook his head hard. "The only reason you're blaming Jonathan for this is the same reason we're in all of this in the first place! Is because you don't know him like you pretend to! Just like you don't care about Cameron like you pretend to! He would never do that to Cameron in a million years! Unlike you all, he has a heart, and a conscience—"

" _Hey_!" It was nothing but a hiss, but it was scathing enough to cut everyone off. They all whirled around to see Dina in the doorway, absolutely furious. She looked just as tired as the rest of them, like none of them had gotten any sleep at all. And her stare was especially poisonous when she looked at Gunter. "You're going to wake him up," she seethed. "And for what? Some stupid argument that isn't even going to get us anywhere!" She shook her head with clear derision. "Try to use your head if you can," she snapped.

Gunter seemed inclined to fight even more. But something about Dina took that away from him. His stare was still hostile when he flashed a look at Mike and Kay. But he dropped it and turned on his toe. He left them all in the kitchen and headed upstairs instead. Kay watched him go. Once his back was to her, she let her expression crowd with sorrow and regret. Dina must have realized this, because she weakened. "I'm sorry, Kay," she sighed. "He doesn't mean it, he's just…he's just not doing very well with…" She trailed off. But finishing wasn't really necessary; Kay could do it on her own.

"It's alright," she murmured. "I…" She cleared her throat. "I just wanted to know how Cameron was doing." Her gaze lingered on the stairs for a heartbeat longer, before she tore it away and smiled at her friend. She hoped the gesture wasn't as pinched as it felt. "You said he was…sleeping?"

Dina's eyes flashed. She gave a tiny nod. "He is now. He didn't…want any dinner. I left it for him, though, just in case." She smiled, like that was the end of it. But Kay stayed staring at her worriedly, and it dragged the rest out. "He's…been distant. He hasn't talked very much. And he's said absolutely nothing about…" She shook her head. "Mostly he's just asked questions. He's…always preferred to listen whenever he's…particularly upset. Mostly I've been doing the talking. He…" Again, she had to clear her throat. "He did ask about Jonathan," she managed eventually.

Kay's stomach clenched. "What about him?"

"He asked…where he was. Or if I'd heard from him." She had to fight a grimace. "He didn't take it very well when I told him nobody knew anything. Unless…?"

Desperate hope sparked in the back of her expression, but it was killed when Kay just shook her head. "We can't find either of them," she said. "Him or MW. They're both just gone. We've got as many people working the case as we can, but all day, there's been nothing." Dina sagged in disappointment, her eyes sliding closed. Kay could see every ounce of her strain and exhaustion. She could see how this whole thing was taking its toll on her already. Kay wished she could do more. She wished she could do  _anything_. "We're looking, though. We're going to keep trying. In…in the meantime, I was going to try and talk to Cameron."

Dina and Jordan both looked at her warily.

"The faster we can get answers, the better it will be," she tried, ignoring the fact that she was just as hesitant as they were. "I'll be fast…and only get what I need to right now. And if he starts getting upset, I'll stop. I just…have to try. I have to do everything I can to help him." If either of them were planning on arguing with her, the temptation was gone when she said this last part. When her voice crumbled in more on itself, and she pressed her lips tightly once it was done. Silence reigned for a very long time. Before she eventually said: "I'll wait for a while…if he's asleep. I won't wake him."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And he just looks at me and goes 'Whoops!'" Jordan snickered. Kay cracked a tiny smile. "The stage is on fire, someone's running on with an extinguisher, Gunter's just standing there  _pissed_ , Dina's trying to make sure her dress doesn't catch flames, and all Cameron can offer is a 'Whoops.'" He grinned, fondness layering over his expression. At the same time, as he straightened, there was a deep sense of sorrow as well. Lingering there only because of the situation at hand. But still, he laughed again and shook his head. "He's the best boss. That had to be the best rehearsal we ever had."

"Even with the fire?" she asked.

" _Especially_  with the fire," he approved.

Her grin got a bit stronger. Dina rolled her eyes where she was sitting at the counter, but she didn't object. Mike was sitting next to her, just close enough so that their arms were hardly brushing. Just enough to let the other know that they were there. Jordan turned and put the tray of cookies down on the cooling rack; at this point, the entire kitchen reeked of chocolate chips. It had been his idea in the first place— if Cameron wasn't tempted to eat, then maybe he would be more inclined to have some of these. If kryptonite was Superman's weakness, Jordan claimed that these were Cameron's. Or…anything sweet, really, but cookies were what they had at the moment.

"You're forgetting the rehearsal we had on April Fool's day," Dina corrected after a moment. Reminiscing was doing her good. Though there was that same shadow of sorrow on her face, there was an affectionate softness, too. Kay perked and looked at her with enough curiosity to spur the story on. "You see, we needed to switch…Jonathan and Cameron needed to switch places for the next trick," she said, the name coming to her with difficulty. "But before they could, Cameron absolutely soaks a stagehand with a water gun – it was very childish, and I told him that afterwards – but you see, by the time the stagehand was turning around, Jonathan was—"

Dina's eyes flew open and her mouth snapped closed when screaming suddenly shattered the temporary peace that had been resting over the Archive. The four in the kitchen were locked in shock at first, too winded to do anything. The screeching only continued. Blood-curdling, horrified, never-ending screaming that turned everyone's blood to ice. Kay was first to start running. She whirled around and shoved herself away from the counter, her heart ramming hard as she took off in a sprint for Cameron's room. She was nearly tripping over herself, painfully aware of how much her hands were shaking as she ran. The screaming was only more difficult to listen to as she got closer.

Cameron's door was cracked; she burst inside without a single hesitation. Once she did, she straightened, her stomach dropping hard. Cameron was still asleep. With how ruined his throat was, his screams sounded like they'd gone through a shredder, or a garbage disposal. But they were choked with fear and panic deep enough to grab even her and yank her underneath the thick of it. He was curled up tightly – something that couldn't have been good for his ribs – and his muscles were locked with terror. She called out his name, but he still kept screaming, trapped in whatever dream he was still in.

The others were right behind her. Once she felt them all stop in the doorway, she did the opposite and forced herself into motion. She rushed over to the bed, stumbling a little bit as she propped a knee up on the mattress to bend low over him. "Cameron! Cameron!" she yelled, struggling to wrench his attention to her. But he still kept screaming— she was feeling sicker and sicker the longer she had to hear him screech. "Cameron, wake up! Listen to me, Cameron, Cameron, you're okay!" Her voice cracked on her reassurance. She might have realized her eyes were burning with tears, had she been focusing on anything other than him.

Cameron still shrieked. He twisted sharply – again, doing more harm than good – and his arms tucked upward as if to shield himself. Without thinking, Kay reached up and grabbed his arms, trying to get him to stop hurting himself. His eyes snapped open with the hard latch, but she could see that there wasn't a light of clarity in them yet. They were wild and unfocused, too panicked to make sense of anything. And when he realized someone was holding on to him, his screams somehow grew even more panicked. He started to thrash, fighting to get away as he screamed incoherent pleas and insults. Kay grimaced hard, trying to force him to stay still. He was going to hurt himself if she didn't. "Cameron, please!" He was sobbing, and it was taking everything inside her not to do the same. "Cameron, you were dreaming! You're safe, Cameron, you're—!"

" _Please stop_!" Cameron wailed, his hoarse voice almost impossible to make sense of. " _Stop, stop, please!"_ She felt like she was going to fall apart.  _"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm— Cameron Black, not— please stop pleasepleasestopI'msorrypleasestoppleasejustkillmepleasejustkillmeplease—"_

Kay was trying to compose herself enough to speak, but before she could, a hefty shove sent her staggering to the side. She barely managed to catch herself. She whirled around to see that Gunter had rushed in, practically knocking over everyone else to get to Cameron. "Get off of him!" he roared, sending her a harsh glare. He turned back to his friend and tried to reason with him. "Cam— Cam, look at me!" he urged, reaching out and trying to put a hand down on his shoulder. "Cam, calm down, yeah!? Cam, you're—"

Cameron acted before he was given the chance for everything to come back to him. Kay's eyes flew wide when he suddenly whirled out and punched Gunter in the face. The blow itself wasn't much at all— not for Gunter. He only stumbled backwards a little bit, more out of surprise than anything else. But the effect it had on Cameron was devastating. He'd punched with his fractured hand, and immediately upon contact, he screeched in absolute agony, twisting back on the bed and holding it tightly to his chest. Tears had already been working their way down his face, but now they were streaming, and his shoulders jerked unevenly with punctured inhales.

The pain did one good thing: it caused him to still. And Kay took the chance to run back over. This time she was wiser and leaned out to put her hands gently on either side of his face, like she had back in the prison. He hadn't reacted badly then. And sure enough, this gesture didn't immediately cause him to recoil. She took in a wavering breath and forced her voice to be steady and gentle. "Cameron," she begged weakly. "Cameron, please look at me. I know it's you, Cameron, I know, you're  _not_ Jonathan, and you're  _not_ in any danger, Cameron, just  _look at me_.  _Please_."

He did. His hyperventilating beginning to stutter, Cameron turned to her and opened his eyes again. They were raw with unimaginable pain— mental and physical. But when they locked, she was more relieved than she'd ever been in her life to see that there was a spark of consciousness and recognition there. She pasted a smile on her face that she was sure would be too weak to pass off. Mindlessly, she had begun to move her thumbs gently back and forth over his cheeks, gaunter than normal. "You're okay, Cam," she breathed. "You're okay, I promise. I promise you, you're alright…"

He was struggling to pick up the pieces. His eyes flickered over to Gunter, who was straightening, holding the side of his face. To Dina and Jordan and Mike, who were nearer to the door and simply playing the part of the horrified audience. The pain in his hand must have been blinding, but it didn't even seem to be registering anymore. All that did manage to register was severe disappointment and sorrow and regret, and every emotion that existed between the three. That's all that hollowed out his sobs when he broke in on himself and began to cry.

But still, Kay wasn't about to move. And Cameron never pushed her away.

She just stayed where she was, bent over him and holding his face gently in her hands.

Like she was trying to protect him from something, even though he'd already been damaged beyond repair.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She would have been heartless to question him after all that.

So she waited until the next day. She wasn't coming with any more news on Jonathan. They had leads…but that was about it. She wasn't surprised. Jonathan was a master of deception, just like his brother was…he may as well have disappeared in a puff of smoke on a stage. They would be having just as much luck in finding him, if that was the case. She was hoping Cameron would see this and she wouldn't have to actually tell him. For some reason, she didn't think she would be able to.

All day, she had heard his screaming echoing in her ears. She had seen the crazed and frightened look on his face. She had felt the waves of terror that had been rolling off of him. She'd had a foul taste in her mouth that no amount of water or forced-down food could wash away. And the weight on her chest had only grown and gotten heavier, up until the moment Dina let her inside. Crossing the threshold, she was already looking for a sign that something had changed. Gotten better. Even just a little bit. But Dina's smile was worn, and Jordan was asleep on the couch, in a position that suggested he'd just fallen down and lost consciousness. Gunter was standing with his back against the wall. When he saw her, he turned and walked down the hall without a word.

Dina must have seen the look on her face. "It's okay," she soothed weakly. "He doesn't mean it."

She nodded once. She couldn't say anything but: "How was he today?"

"He ate some," she replied, and Kay let out a slow breath. "And he's been drinking more, too; it helps his throat. He…he hasn't asked about Jonathan at all." And Kay understood that somehow this was even worse than if he'd been constantly pressing. The hurt in Dina's eyes was enough to attest to this. "He's…still upset after last night. I've told him over and over not to be, but…he's apologized to Gunter five times now. If he ever goes back in, he's sure to do it again." She shook her head. "His hand is killing him. I'm tempted to take him to the hospital again just to be sure he didn't do anything more to it. But…" She wilted considerably. "But I suppose…you're here to talk to him."

"I am." The two words almost stuck in her throat.

Dina just nodded. Kay started to turn and walk the way she'd gone last night when she spoke up and stopped her short. "He's…he's not in his room."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She wasn't sure what she was expecting Jonathan's room to look like. It wasn't that different from Cameron's. Less mementos from shows…more bookshelves that looked plenty rifled through. There was a desk in the corner with papers and notebooks and pencils…frozen mid-work that was now a year old. His bed was in the same place Cameron's was. She stared at him in bed for a moment, trapped in one more gap of hesitation. He might have been asleep. She reluctantly took a few steps inside. "Cameron?" she dared. The only sign he gave that he heard was a tiny, barely-there shift. "Cameron, it's me. Can I talk to you?"

A few seconds lasted several eternities. Until: "Okay."

The reply – the coherent, sensible one – brought a surprising amount of relief to shake her to the core. She never thought she would be so overjoyed to have a simple back-and-forth. But she knew she wouldn't be in due time. Kay took in a quick breath to brace herself, and she walked inside, slowly taking a seat on the edge of the bed so that Cameron had time to snap at her not to, if he wanted. But he wasn't even looking at her. He was staring off to the side. He looked tired. She wondered how long he'd been doing that. "How are you feeling, Cameron?"

The look in his eyes suggested that he was sick of the question. But he didn't answer. All he offered was what Dina warned her she would get. His voice was still just as ruined. After last night, it was even worse. "I'm…sorry about— I…wasn't…"

Frustration was building on his face, and she rushed to help. "No, Cameron, don't— please don't apologize. It's not your fault, at all." The exasperation stayed, though, fixed in place. It just wilted and weakened in sorrow at her fast reassurance. He still didn't look at her. It was like he couldn't. She knew it would only get worse, so she tried to go on quickly. Maybe if she did it fast, it would hurt less. Like a band-aid. "Cameron…do you think…you could tell me what happened?" she practically whispered. But it didn't matter. The room was so silent, she might as well have been shouting. Cameron closed his eyes. She tried to remain strong. "Can you tell me what Jonathan did? Anything he said? Could you tell me…?" She trailed off, hoping she didn't need to finish.

Which was a selfish wish.

The look on Cameron's face was a completely dead one. Of apathy, and numbness. The bruises on his face had blackened fully by now. The ones on his neck were greener. "Always working," he rasped. He barely had any voice at all. From the way it sounded, she was worried it was hurting him just to get anything out. "You should take a break once in a while, Agent." It sounded like he'd intended this as a joke. But there was far too much cynicism in his voice and face to make it so.

"Cameron…I want to find Jonathan for you. I want to bring him home."

He scoffed, or maybe he tried to, but it came out more like a heavy exhale. His eyebrows pulled together, and for a moment it looked like the odd blankness was leaving. That his expression was crumbling, and he was going to cry, instead. But at the last second, he slammed the brakes and stopped himself. He just refocused on the wall. "I'm not stupid, Kay," he whispered. It was all he could manage. Her heart spasmed in agony, but she kept silent. She would be heartless to interrupt him. "The FBI didn't care about him before…there's no way they actually care about helping him now."

"I don't care what the FBI wants to do," Kay replied. "I know what  _I_ want to do. And what I want to do is help you. I want to help you in any way I can, Cameron. And that starts  _here_. I want to help you, but I have to know what happened." Cameron closed his eyes. Like if he didn't see her, she might melt away. "Can you tell me what Jonathan did? Was there a plan? Did you two—"

"He'll come back." The words were almost lost in the dark.

"…Do you know that?" she dared further. Cameron pulled the blanket up more over his face. When she got nothing, she pressed: "Did Jonathan tell you he would be back?" Still, zilch. "Cameron, why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell someone that this happened?" She thought he saw him tuck just the tiniest bit tighter into himself. "Did Jonathan ask you not to? We could have gotten you out, we could have…helped you, Cameron, but you never—"

"He'll come back," he repeated. A record too broken to do anything but skip.

She drew her own conclusions. It wasn't that difficult a leap. For the three days that Cameron was in prison, and she had thought she had spoken to  _him_ , she had had his glower engraved in her mind. The glare that Jonathan had shot her. She had thought, at the time, it had been Cameron. That was why it stuck with her so much. That anger, that finality. And what she had told him…his reaction…he wasn't acting with Cameron. Right? He couldn't have been. And the look on his face, now…she had never seen him look so desolate. She started to reach out for his arm. She stopped herself mid-reach. "Cameron…did he leave you there?" Her voice was too soft— too gentle. Taught from years of asking rattled and shell-shocked people questions that hurt her to ask as much as it hurt them to answer.

Cameron kept staring at the wall. She thought he would ignore her. Until: "…Yes." And the way he said this was almost enough to get her to put it all to a stop. It hurt her heart too much to hear— the hollowness in the answer, and the defeated ring it had. He didn't sound like Cameron at all. She didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want to force him to give any more.

But she had to.

"And…what happened afterwards?" she whispered.

This, he didn't respond to. But she saw his eyes get shinier in the dim light of the bedroom.

Her mouth was completely dry. "…Who did this to you, Cameron? What happened?"

He was purposefully not blinking, to keep the tears from falling. He stayed mute.

It felt like she was swallowing glass. "Did…Jonathan—?"

"No."

"…Okay," she whispered. "Then…who? What happened?"

Cameron's lips tightened, but they were starting to waver anyway.

She leaned closer. "Cameron,  _please_ ," she begged, weakening herself. "I just need to help you. Please tell me—"

"Can you stop— can you stop asking me?" Cameron asked, reaching up with his good hand to press it against his forehead. She could see it trembling, just like his words were. "Can you please just stop—?"

"Cameron, I—" She closed her eyes, trying to remain delicate, but in control at the same time. Just get it out, she just had to get it out. "Cameron, I  _know_ , I  _think_ I know, and I need you to know that it doesn't mean—"

" _Kay_ —" He was getting worked up. He was breathing heavier; his voice was sounding thicker.

She was struggling not to fall into the same trap, but it was getting harder. She tried to rush on. "Cameron, if you just tell me everything that happened, I can  _do_ something. I can get into contact with the right people, I can help track Jonathan down better, if you know where he went, I can make that person  _pay_." Her voice turned unnaturally acidic with this threat. "I can— I can talk to the prison and—"

He was pulling the blanket tighter around himself, turning away from her. "I don't want—"

"You don't have to go into detail, you don't have to explain, you just—"

" _Kay, please, I can't_ —"

"The name, the circumstances, the time, you know how it works, you've been with me for—"

" _Kay_!" He yelled again, like he'd screamed last night. Hoarse and quieter but filled with enough aching sorrow to render her mute. She snapped her mouth closed and flinched backwards, like he'd hit her. He was still looking away, and by now he couldn't hold his tears back. But he didn't bother reaching up and wiping them away. Maybe because he knew by now it wouldn't have a point. Silence swallowed up the space behind his cry. It pushed down on their shoulders, oppressive and earsplitting. Choking. She almost worried it would leave bruises on her neck, to match Cameron's.

She didn't speak. She just waited for him.

When he did, his voice was so hollow it could hold water. It was just a rasp. "What was it like when you found your sister?" he breathed. The question shocked her; she couldn't respond. It came out of left field. But he must have anticipated her reaction, because after a few seconds, he just went on. "Was it the worst thing that's ever happened to you?" Her face fell. She blinked and looked down at her hands. "Do you want to talk about that? Ever?"

The dead space that was offered was enough of an answer.

His expression was starting to break. But she could tell he was trying to keep firm when he mumbled: "So  _please_  don't ask me the same question."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"How  _dare_ you have the  _audacity_ to think that the peppermint mocha frappe is better than the pumpkin spice frappe," Jordan raved. Dina sighed and looked off to the side with an expression that was pleading with God for patience. Kay was leaning so that her elbows rested on the counter; she was staring down absently, half-listening to the so-called 'fight.' Gunter wasn't as good about hiding his exasperation. The argument wasn't going anywhere, she knew. There wasn't a point to it. It was just there to fill the silence. To Jordan's credit, he was just trying to make it easier for everyone. "The pumpkin spice frappe is the  _perfect_  drink, and there are  _eight fundamental reasons why. Firstly_ —"

Unfortunately, he wasn't able to finish before there was the sudden sound of a slam. It was what they had all been listening for in these past forty-five minutes, and they immediately sprang into action. Dina shot off at the head of them all, and Kay was right behind her. Gunter and Jordan were fighting for the tail end. They rushed down to the bathroom, and Dina knocked on the door, her expression crowded with worry. "Cameron!?" she called. There wasn't an answer, and she put her ear up to the wood. "Cameron, are you okay!? Did you fall!?"

They all became aware of pained gasps on the other end of the door. And choking, like he was having difficulty even doing that. Kay took a step closer, and Dina shook her head. "Cameron, I'm coming in, alright?" she called. She waited five more seconds, which seemed much longer than it actually was. When nothing happened again, she didn't waste any more before she let herself inside. Kay rushed in without thinking, and her lungs were rendered paralyzed.

Cameron was standing at the sink, holding to the counter with his good hand and flinching hard. His hair was still wet from the shower, and though he'd managed to put on his pajama bottoms, apparently the same couldn't be said for his shirt. Agony was written harsh across his face as he ducked his head low; Kay could imagine that stretching his arms up to try and manage the feat himself had been too much, between his ribs and his right arm. He was gasping like he'd just finished running a marathon— the simple act of showering looked to be the equivalent of such. It was the first time he'd tried it since getting back.

Standing there and seeing the state he was in rooted Kay immobile and silent. Or maybe it was just seeing all the wounds that were usually covered by clothes. His sides were mottled and dark with bruises, painful to even look at, let alone probably feel. His right arm wasn't inflamed anymore, and the team had been working hard to make sure no infection set in. But it was still an eyesore— the twisted knife carving making anyone sick at the mere glimpse. The skin was pinched around the thick black sutures, but the letter was still glaringly obvious. Kay hadn't seen it much, because Cameron kept it covered, and dressed. But every night, she had laid awake and thought of the injury…wondering who it had come from, why it had come in the first place, what it stood for, dreading what Cameron had felt and done as the torture was inflicted. Seeing it now only brought that all back up.

Her chest felt empty, and she realized too late that her eyes were misting over. However, she realized something even later. Her eyes caught and slid upwards, and she stiffened when she saw that Cameron was actually looking at her for once. And he'd seen every inch of the sorrow and dismay on her face. Their eyes locked briefly, Cameron's raw not only with pain, but now something far too close to shame, hers quickly going from sorrowful to apologetic. She opened her mouth, but Cameron ducked away before she got the chance to speak. His shoulders hunched, and he held tighter to the sink, his arms shaking even more as he fought to keep himself up.

Dina was rushing to his side, her expression stricken. "Darling, you should have called— here, let me help, I can help you." He flinched hard, locking his jaw back as she crouched down to pick up the shirt that had fallen to the ground. She threw a look back at the others, warning them to clear out. Immediately, Jordan and Gunter obeyed, but Kay couldn't bring herself to. She just stayed put where she was, staring forlornly at her friend, suffering and in pain.

Even when the door closed, she didn't move.

Even when the door closed, she could still see the ashamed look that had been on his face.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jordan was pretty well-known for his late-night adventures down to the kitchen. For cookies, or brownies, or ice cream, you name it— but it wasn't even limited to desserts, because one night he'd gone and made an entire foot-long deli sandwich. Dina hadn't been happy about that one – he'd taken up practically every ingredient in the kitchen for it – but Cameron had just been impressed. So here he was tonight, coming down again thinking of the leftover Chinese he knew was in the fridge. Cam hadn't eaten too much of his and he'd said that he didn't really want any more at all. So Jordan was pretty sure that he wouldn't mind if he took care of that for him.

However, halfway to the kitchen, he stopped. His forehead creased, and he looked down at his watch, just to double-check. But no, he wasn't mistaken— it was midnight. Cameron had gone back to Jonathan's room after dinner – he couldn't be up for very long as it was – and Dina and Gunter had gone to bed about an hour ago. The only reason Jordan was up was to rifle for something to eat.

Everyone was asleep…

So why was there water running?

He glanced at the fridge, seriously debating whether or not to just dive for the chicken fried rice anyway. But curiosity outweighed food. For once. He frowned and turned, veering away from the kitchen and heading for the bathroom. It wasn't the shower that was on, it was the sink— he could make the distinction the closer he walked. Getting to the door he stopped and knocked, his eyebrows pinching together. "…Cameron?" he called out, not really sure who was on the other side. "Can I come in?" There wasn't a response, but given that the sink was running, Jordan decided to just reach out and try anyway. He'd open it slow, to give whoever it was a chance to yell, but worry kind of outweighed politeness at the moment. If it was Cam, what if he'd fallen or something? Why was he even up?

Jordan opened the door and did a double-take. Cameron was standing at the sink, the water on full blast. He was brushing his teeth. Furiously, and fast, like he only had five seconds and was just trying to do the best he could. His head was lowered, but Jordan could still see the expression on his face. It looked like he was struggling not to be sick, or fighting not to completely freak out. He spat out the toothpaste with a barely-withheld gag. And Jordan watched as he immediately turned and reached for the tube once more, to do it all over again. The water was pooled inches deep in the sink. There was no telling how long he had been here doing this.

"Cameron?" Jordan repeated, louder this time.

Immediately, he jerked, dropping everything. His toothbrush splashed into the water, but he paid no mind. His head snapped up and he turned wide eyes over to Jordan. He just stayed put in the doorway, not even trying to hide his alarm. Shock and the tiniest bit of fear had flared across Cameron's face at the sudden entrance, but once he came back to himself and recognized who it actually was, a huge smile spread over his face. Yet another thing that worried Jordan— he hadn't smiled in days, and here he was in the bathroom at midnight, after having used up probably half of the toothpaste tube, grinning so huge and wide that he looked half-crazed. "Jordan!" He was too eager, too. Way too peppy. "You're up!"

"Yeah— I…are you okay?" he stuttered. "Why are  _you_  up? It's really late, Cameron, and you're—"

"It's not important. At all," Cameron scoffed, the water still running in the background. Jordan was looking from it, to him, still baffled. Inwardly, he was wondering if he should go wake Dina up. Cam didn't look good at all. Aside from the weird look on his face, he wasn't the greatest color, either. He was swaying a little bit. Before he could decide, Cameron was sweeping ahead. "But I'm so glad you're awake! I was actually planning on  _getting_ you up, but now I don't have to. How great of timing is  _that_?" Jordan opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Cam didn't seem to care. " _You_ are the perfect person! Dina would say no, and I don't think Gunter would have as good a time, and even if he did he'd probably pretend he didn't because he's like that for some reason." He was talking about a mile a minute. His hands were shaking. Still, he beamed. "But you're perfect because you'll have  _tons_ of fun – we  _both_ will – and you won't say no either,  _and_  you're the best liar, but I told you that already, didn't I?"

"Y-Yeah, you did…" Jordan mumbled.

Cameron just smiled and stared at him expectantly.

He wilted a little, his unease only mounting. "Uh…I'm not too…sure what you're talking about…"

Cameron jerked, blinking fast like he'd just realized he hadn't actually said anything yet. "Oh!  _Duh_." He shut the water off. When he turned back, his grin was somehow even brighter. And Jordan's stomach clenched when he just declared happily: "I have an  _amazing_ idea."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"We're only going to stay for a little while," Jordan edged a little hesitantly. He had to stifle a small sigh. "We're probably not even supposed to be here in the first place…if Dina knew, she'd have probably cut my head off twenty minutes ago." Cameron glanced at him. They were sitting together at the bar, at the far end, away from the other people that were out and about at 12:30 am. Cameron had proposed they go out and do something, and Jordan of course hadn't had the heart to say no. Not when he had looked at him so hopefully. He could never disappoint Cameron— he had a thing about that. And besides, what was the harm? It wasn't like Cameron could stay on his feet long anyway. They'd be here thirty minutes tops.

"That's why I asked you and not Dina," Cameron exhaled, and now he was a little bit more like his old self. He wasn't shaking, or smiling too much, like before. In fact, he seemed tired. But all the same, he offered Jordan a warm look. "Thank you," he tacked on. "For agreeing. We can have some fun! We deserve some fun, don't we? At this point?" Jordan hesitated, but after a second, he smiled and nodded. Sure they did. Why not? Cameron brightened a tad. Genuinely, actually brightened. It was like turning a dimmer switch a fraction to the left, but it was a difference all the same.

The bartender came back and set two shot glasses down, one for each person. Cameron immediately rushed to grab his, but Jordan made no move for the one in front of him. Cam blinked, and his face fell. A fact Jordan noticed immediately and felt a pang of regret for. "Cheers!" Cameron urged, holding his up in midair. Jordan still seemed skeptical. His face dropped even more. "Come on, you've gotta drink too," he tried weakly. His smile fractured as he added softer: "Otherwise it's just depressing."

"I have to drive us home," Jordan pointed out.

Cameron blinked. He looked down at his glass. The sorrow he'd carried with him – so unnaturally and out of character for him – ever since he'd gotten back, was creeping into place once more. He gave up easy, something else that wasn't really like him. It turned Jordan's stomach, and it only got worse when Cameron started to raise it up to his mouth anyway. As he did, his long sleeve pulled back to flash the gauze around his arm. Jordan shook his head and made the quick resolve. "It won't hurt," he assured, and Cameron looked up at once, his eyes flashing with surprise and a bit of light again. It made Jordan even more certain and he smiled. He picked up the shot glass and leaned over to tap it against Cameron's. "Cheers, Boss," he chirped. "Really glad to have you back."

Cameron smiled. Another genuine one.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And  _sixthly,_ the pumpkin spice frappe is— are you listening to me!?" Jordan demanded over the music. Cameron blinked, shaking his head to clear it as he looked over at his friend. He nodded hard, mumbling something about how of course he was paying attention, they were on the fourth reason, how could he not be paying attention? Jordan mimicked his nod, jamming a pointer finger down against the table for emphasis. "Good, because the fourth—" He frowned. "We're not on the fourth reason we're on the sixth. We're on the sixth reason!" he corrected. Cameron blinked, confused. "Where'd four come from?"

Cameron exhaled, shaking his head and throwing his arms up listlessly. "That's what I'm saying," he grumbled, and the reply must have made some kind of sense to Jordan because he didn't question it.

"Anyway, the sixth reason…is that it's good," Jordan pressed, shaking his head. "The peppermint…thing— that tastes like dirt."

Cameron made a face. "I think it tastes good. It tastes like  _peppermint_ — that's what it's supposed to taste like. Otherwise…it'd be false advertising." He reached out and twirled the empty glass in front of him, his eyes still narrowed. "There'd be…lawsuits. And stuff. Wouldn't the pumpkin one taste more like dirt? It's…pumpkins are from the dirt. Peppermint…where does that come from?" He tilted his head. "Are peppermints from the dirt too?"

Jordan wasn't listening. "And seventhly…you know, like…Halloween. That's the seventh reason."

"Where do peppermints come from?" Cameron demanded, louder. The way he asked this suggested a possible existential crisis from the lack of knowing. "It's a  _plant_ , right? Are they plants? Then maybe it  _could_  taste like dirt…" He looked over at Jordan, repeating: " _Where do peppermints come from_!?" His voice had gotten a little stronger recently, but with the music playing overhead and the conversation around them, it still wasn't a walk in the park to hear him.

"I don't know, Google it!"

Cameron blinked, reaching into his pocket. He frowned when he came up empty, and he checked his other one. Before his eyes flashed and he was hit with it. He smiled and broke out into laughter, shaking his head as he bent over and thudded his forehead down on the bar top. The hunch caused pain to stab at his sides, but that just made him laugh more. Jordan looked down at him with bleary curiosity, and Cameron just kept laughing. "I don't have my phone!" he snickered, like this was most hilarious thing he could imagine. "My phone— don't even know where my phone is," he exhaled heavily.

Jordan straightened up. "Oh! Did Jonathan take that?" Cameron's eyes closed he nodded. "What else did he take?"

Cameron gaze another wheezy laugh. "My happiness," he joked, the laughter dying off faster this time. And once it did, his face fell back into apathy. He kept his head down, but he moved so that his cheek was against the counter and he could look at Jordan. He was disoriented already, after only three shots. It was worse for him, because he still wasn't eating much. His words were slurred, not helping with the difficulty in communication. The look in his eyes was far-away and muddled. His voice was a dead mumble when he spoke next. "I don't think there's a plan…" Cameron's eyes began to prickle. "I think he left me there because he doesn't care about me anymore…"

Jordan seemed not at all sure what he meant. But he put his chin on his hand and listened anyway as his friend went on. "How could he do that?" Cam croaked. "Maybe…maybe our entire life, he just hated me…always…and he just— pretended, all those birthdays, and Christmases, and— and shows. Maybe he was just pretending every time, and I was just too stupid to see it…" His voice was getting more and more choked. "Maybe I deserved it. Maybe that's what I get for being so stupid and self-absorbed and…stupid, and dumb." He put a hand to his face, shaking his head just a little bit. "Maybe this is what I get for being stupid," he cried.

"Hey! Woah, woah!" Jordan announced, shaking his head fast. He leaned over and prodded him in the head a little roughly. Cameron picked it up, looking miserable. "Nuh-uh— we're not gonna do that," he dismissed. "You're…a lot of things, Cameron Black! You're a magician, you're a celebrity, you're funny, you're cool, you're an official FBI Observer…" (He ignored Cameron's crestfallen mumble of: "That's not even a thing.") "But what you're  _not_ …is  _stupid_. You're not stupid— you're not any of those things! Could a stupid person make a plane disappear? I don't think so. I know plenty of stupid people that can't make a plane disappear." He put a hand down on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Look— you didn't deserve what Jonathan did.  _At all_." Cameron gave him a tiny smile, the gesture watery. "And once we find Jonathan, we're gonna  _tell 'im_ that." He made a face and leaned closer. "You know Dina's going to like…murder him? She's probably making plans right now."

Cameron looked back at the table top. Despite the reassurances, his face was quick to fall again. His eyes welled more, and his throat was getting hotter. He remembered Jonathan's angry look. The declaration ringing in his ears: 'I don't want to escape with you.' He reached up and tugged his sleeve down, like he was worried it wasn't covering his bandaging. "I'm not drunk enough," he whispered. Jordan immediately ordered more shots. Once they came, Cameron didn't even wait. He just snatched the glass up and choked the liquid down, ignoring how it hurt his throat.

Jordan did the same, but not before he showed his phone to Cameron and declared: "Peppermint  _does_  come from plants."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _He was a boy! She was a girl! Can I make it any more obvious!? He was a punk! She did ballet! What more can I say!?"_ Jordan and Cameron were both singing about two full pitches off-key, and way too loud, though in Cameron's case it was more like regular volume. At this point they'd both forgotten what bar they were even at, but apparently at 1:40 am is when two things happened. One: it was when the party officially started, because more and more people were rolling in. And two: it was when they started taking requests over what songs were played. Five and a half shots in, and Cameron had slammed the hand that did not have a fracture on the bar, ignoring the slight pain, to loudly proclaim that he had the perfect song.

" _He wanted her! She'd never tell! Secretly she wanted him as well! But all of her friends stuck up their nose! They had a problem with his baggy clothes!"_ Jordan had had six shots— unlike Cameron he wasn't starting to feel sick yet. He wasn't concentrating on much of anything, which explained why neither of them were thinking about how in the world they were going to get home. That was to be thought of later. For now, they were having  _fun_. Cameron's head was foggy enough to block everything else out, at least for the time being. Right now, he was too disoriented to do anything but try and remember the words to this song. And though it hurt his throat to belt it out, he did anyway, because Jordan was laughing, and so was he, every so often.

" _He was a skater boy, she said: 'See ya later boy!' He wasn't good enough for her! She had a pretty face, but her head was up in space! She needed to come back down to earth!"_ The alcohol was strong, and it numbed the pain— all the pain, not just the physical. He wasn't thinking about that supply closet, or how Dina looked at him when she thought he didn't notice her staring, or the way everyone's voice was softer than normal, or the way they wore their pity on their sleeve for everyone to see _. "Five years from now, she sits at home, feeding the baby, she's all alone! She turns on TV, guess who she sees? Skater boy rockin' up MTV!"_  He wasn't thinking about how Jonathan had left him and was likely never going to come back, and that now whenever he thought of his brother, instead of remembering all the good things about him, he would just remember the hostility on his face, and the fact that he had left. He wasn't thinking about any of it.

" _She calls up her friends, they already know. And they've all got tickets to see his show! She tags along and stands in the crowd. Looks up the man that she turned down!"_

For now, he was just happy. Feeling the closest to normal he had since this whole thing had started.

" _He was a skater boy, she said: 'See ya later boy!' He wasn't good enough for her…!"_

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Seven shots in and Cameron lost track of Jordan. He didn't know where he went. All he knew was that his vision was warping and blurring by this point. Everything shivered in front of him, like it was cold. His movements were uncoordinated and awkward. But that was okay because he'd just taken to sitting here anyway, swaying a little bit back and forth. Sometimes he felt like he was about to fall right off the stool, but he never tried to catch himself. There wasn't much more damage he could do, right? What was a fall? Nothing, in comparison, right? It was fine.

He just felt sick. He felt really sick— like he might  _get_ sick.

_The last time I got sick was when—_

Yeah, but that's okay. It's fine.

_Mind over matter. If you don't mind it, it doesn't matter. Just like—_

Okay. But no. He cringed blearily, shaking his head and nearly capsizing at the nausea that simple motion caused. He needed…another drink. He needed another one, because he wasn't drunk enough. When would he be drunk enough? When was it going to be enough? Just keep going…

They _kept going. How long did it even— must have been—_

 _Yes_ , but it didn't  _matter_. Was the thing. Was the tiny little thing.

He swayed a bit more forward this time, and in the process his elbow slid and hit something. Groggily, he looked down and it took him six full seconds to get his vision narrowed enough to see what it was and then make the actual connection. Jordan left his phone here. His phone…he could…use the phone, to…call…  _He hates you so much. If you told him what happened he'd probably laugh. He'd probably be glad. Maybe he deserves to. You should call him so he can laugh at you._ Cameron fumbled for a moment but moved so he could grab it. His sides hurt…even breathing was hard. He wanted to lay down. He hadn't sat up for this long before. He wanted to go back home.

He had to concentrate to turn the phone on. And it took a full minute for him to figure out how to dial the number. And to get the right number in the first place. But once he did and it started ringing, he dragged it up to his ear. By the time he did, it was on its fourth ring. He waited, patiently, for someone to answer. He'd take anyone. He wanted to talk to  _anyone_. But no. He got the voicemail, again— the same one he'd gotten in the prison. The same bright person on the other end that  _must_  have been him, but he didn't recognize right now.

There was that beep again.

"JJJJ—" He grimaced, suffering through another wave of nausea. He choked for a second, like he really was going to vomit. But it passed. He opened his eyes again and tried to start again. "Johnny," he said, with all the warmth and love he had when they were kids. When Jonathan would help him out of a trap and hug him tightly to tell him he did a good job. When they would stay up late watching television even though their dad said not to, because it was their secret and only theirs. When they would practice together alone and laugh off their mistakes, because they both knew how hard their father was on them. Whenever he'd looked up to Jonathan and trusted him with every fiber of his being and—

Cameron was crying. "Um…'m s'rry," he managed thickly. He started to lay his head back down. It felt better that way. He just wanted to feel better… "I'm…out. Kay got— me out," he slurred. "I tried to— stay, f'r you, but— but I—" He cringed hard, his shoulders quickly beginning to shake. He was too far gone to try and hold back his sobs. It was a good thing now, that his voice was shot. Not a lot of people would hear, over all the noise. Maybe Jonathan wouldn't either. But he wouldn't in the first place, because he wasn't going to listen to this message, anyway. "I couldn't…I couldn't, I—" He gasped sharply, turning more into the table. "I messed up," he sobbed. "And they—…"

He flinched. "Please t'll me you're comin' back," he begged in a cry. "Please come back home…I'll…won't even talk to you, if you don' want, I just…want you to be happy…" He gasped again. "'Cause you weren' happy with— me, I want…you to be happy, you're my brother. And I l've you, and you…don' love me, and that's okay…I don't love me either…" He had to pause and wait out another spell. He swallowed hard a couple times to keep his bile back. "'M a…horrible person," he confessed weakly, once he could. He was bouncing from one topic to another, like it was leapfrog. "I…deserved it…but please…don' be out there. With her. Please…have a plan, 'cause if you don't, then I—" He broke off. It didn't matter. Not anymore.

He just sniffed. His voice broke in half. "You were always the better one," he cried. "I don'…know why it was ever…I'm nothing…now." He crumbled in on himself. It only got worse. "'m…nothing…anymore." He tried to reach out for the shot glass that was nearest to him, wondering if it had more in it. If there was anything he could force down to make things better— easier. But he used his broken hand, and he couldn't get a grip on it. It slipped within two seconds, thankfully not high enough to shatter. But he cringed at the thud it made, feeling his stomach twist. "S'ry," he apologized, too out of it to realize Jonathan couldn't find fault with him dropping something considering he wasn't actually there. "They— broke m' hand…I was…tryin' to get them off, but…they held me down, 'nd I couldn' breathe, I…" He couldn't keep going. His voice wasn't working right. His throat was too hot. He sounded too weird.

He just closed his eyes as tightly as he could and repeated the fuzzy apology. "S'ry…'m so s'ry, 'm…"

'Thank you for leaving a voicemail! If you are satisfied with your message, please—'

This time, Cameron didn't listen. His hand went limp and the phone dropped.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Kay's phone was ringing. She was tempted to ignore it. Whoever it was could wait until a godlier hour of the morning. She was an early riser herself, pretty okay as soon as she got her coffee, but this was ridiculous. A glance at her clock told her she had quite a while before she even had to think about getting up. So ignoring it was definitely on her mind. Until she rolled over and shifted to see her phone on the bedside table, and she saw the name that was flashing back at her.

Jordan was calling her. At 2:15 in the morning.

Something was wrong.

Cameron.

She was up in a flash, panic rushing through her as she lunged for the device and answered it as fast as she could, worried she would already be too late. But she got there in time; when she put it up to her ear, she could hear noises on the other line. Loud clamor, like there were a bunch of other people. Her heart kept ramming against her ribcage. Did something happen? Were they at the hospital? "Jordan?" she demanded, more than alert. There wasn't a reply at first, and she started to throw off her covers. Already mapping out what she should throw on during her rush out the door. "Jordan, what's going on? Is everything okay? How is Cameron?"

"Kay…"

She stopped at once, her eyes rounding out. It wasn't Jordan on the other end. She could hardly hear him, with everything else. But he didn't sound like himself. Something was still wrong. "Cameron?" She sat back in bed, but she stared at the opposite wall, her forehead creased. "Cameron, is something wrong? What— where are you, what are you doing? It's loud." He was still on bedrest, wasn't he? He was getting up more and more but never for very long.

"It's crowded— 's too crowded."

"What?" She held the phone so it was flush against her ear. "It's crowded?" she clarified. "Cameron, where are you? Where is crowded?"

"I…don' know where Jordan— it's too crowded, 's too crowded I can't— 'm s'ry—"

"Cameron, are you  _drunk_?" she demanded. His words were slurring, and there was a thickness to his voice that made it drag. "Are you at a  _bar_?" He couldn't be! Why in the world would he be in a bar!? And why in the world was Jordan missing!? Jordan took him to a bar and then lost track of him!? She shook her head, taking in a couple slow breaths to steady herself. "Cameron, Cameron, listen to me," she pleaded. "You need to tell me where you are, okay? I need to come and get you." She was up again, rushing for her closet to throw something on. "You shouldn't be out, Cameron, you need to be home."

"'m s'ry…"

She closed her eyes tightly. Her heart felt like it was being sliced open. "Don't apologize, Cameron, just tell me where you are."

"There's— too many people—"

"I know, so you need to tell me where you are!" She spoke louder, and slower. Silently begging him to understand. How much had he had to drink? "Tell me where you are and I'll fix this, Cameron! Tell me what bar you're at!"

He hesitated, and while he did she was yanking on clothes. Jeans a random t shirt; she wasn't thinking of appearances, now. She was throwing her coat on and yanking her keys up by the time he replied. "R'mona…" Ramona— she knew where that was. Okay. She started to tell him it would be alright, and that she'd get there soon, when he stumbled on before she could. "I jus' wanted to stop…thinking, I ask'd 'im to— bring me here, 's my fault, everythin' is my fault…"

She rushed out the door, unlocking her car and starting it up. "It's not your fault, Cameron, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong," she reassured, making her voice overtly sweet. "I'll be there in ten minutes. Okay?"

"I can' breathe…'s too crowded, 's too— I can't—" She shook her head, flinching as she listened to his voice begin to thin and get away from him. This was  _bad_ — what in the world had Jordan been thinking!? Taking him out was one thing, leaving him alone completely drunk was another! If he hadn't had a phone, what could have happened!? His speech was a garbled mess of apologies and hitched breaths. He was starting to panic, and the thought of him having another episode like a couple nights ago in a bar filled with strangers was horrifying even to her. Cameron would be mortified.

"Cameron, Cameron, it's fine. I'm almost there. You can breathe, Cameron, I promise. Trust me on that." She was on her way now, practically flooring it. What are the odds there would be police out and about at this hour? Probably likely, but it wasn't a worry too much on her mind. What  _was_ on her mind, was calming Cameron down. "Hey, I don't…think I ever told you about the time I punched my best friend in the face, did I?" She plucked the story out of thin air. Cameron said nothing on the other end, but he wasn't rushing on with senseless apologies, so she took that as him listening. She went on and hoped that was the case. "I was in middle school, and it was her birthday. We were all camping out in the woods, because she loved nature, but she also loved scary stories.

"So we were all roasting marshmallows around the campfire, and we were all telling these scary stories. Little things…usually they wouldn't be too bad, but it was dark and we were all alone in the middle of the woods. So it seemed much scarier than it really was, at least to us. So after we tell a bunch of these stories, we were going to go down to the bathrooms that were on the campsite— before we went to bed? So we were walking and I was at the front of the group and my friend was right behind me. And as we were walking, she sees a frog, and apparently she was deathly afraid of frogs, so she screams as loud as she can when she sees this. And of course I had no idea what she was screaming about, and I was so scared from the ghost stories from before. So I act without thinking, and for some reason I just turn around and I punch her in the face. For no reason at all. I punched the birthday girl, and she and my other friends never let me live it down." She hesitated, before she tried: "So…don't apologize to Gunter too much," she tried to joke. "I never apologized to Katrina. So."

Cameron was quiet as he digested the story.

After about a minute of silence, which Kay let him have for as long as he needed, he spoke. It was yet another: "'m s'ry…"

"Don't apologize, Cameron," she repeated. "Jordan shouldn't have taken you out, I'll—"

"Nnno," he slurred. "'m s'ry I can't—" His voice was absolutely heartbreaking to listen to when he spoke again. "'m s'ry I can't look at you," he sobbed.

Her throat was quickly swelling closed. She tried to ignore it. "What do you mean?" she found herself asking. Even though she knew exactly what he was talking about.

"I can' look at you 'nymore…I can' look at 'nyone, but you're the hardest…"

She held the steering wheel tighter. "It won't always be this hard. It'll get easier and easier. I promise."

There was an odd noise on the other end. It took a second to realize he was sobbing under his breath. "He left me there," he croaked, and somehow her grip tightened even more on the wheel. "I was gonna break 'im out, we were gonna leave together. But he told me he didn' want to leave with me. 'nd— when I woke up, I was in…'nd he was gone, 'nd so was the map, 'nd…'nd I thought he was comin' back, I waited for 'im, but there was 'nother— I was tryin' to help, I—" It was agony just listening. Hearing him get more and more worked up. His voice was in pieces by now. She could hardly make out what he was saying, between his crying and the incoherence thanks to the alcohol. "They tied me up— couldn't…fight, I tried I tried fighting I tried to— they held me down, 'nd—"

"That's okay, Cameron," she consoled. He was breathing faster and falling deeper into his pit of panic. This was enough. "That's all you need to tell me, you don't need to tell me anything else right now, that's just fine. Thank you. And—" She felt ill. A combination of harrowing sadness and blinding rage was building like bile in the back of her throat. It took all her willpower to keep her voice soft for him. "I'm almost there, Cameron, I'll take you back home. You and Jordan both. Everything is going to be fine." She paused. And when she added this part, there was no saving her voice from thickening with emotion. "I'm so sorry, Cameron," she choked out. "I'm so sorry…"

His reply wasn't what she was expecting. "What'd…Johnny say?"

She blinked a couple times, taking another turn. "I…Cameron I haven't talked to Jonathan since—"

"You said he…said somethin'. To you. Before…what'd…?"

She stiffened. Oh.

'No more promises, Kay.'

Her stomach twisted. She was mute for some time, before she eventually took the selfish response. "We can talk about that later, Cameron."

His voice was hollow and tearful when he simply accepted the refusal. "…'kay…"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She ran into the bar to see that it was indeed crowded. Unnaturally so, even for a weekend in New York. Her heart was in her throat as she whirled around, trying to find where Cameron could be. Or even Jordan. But to her sheer relief, she found Cameron first. He was near the far corner of the bar, as far away from other people as he could probably figure to get in his state. He'd pulled out a chair so that he could slouch against the wall. She didn't have to look twice at him to realize that he was in horrible shape. He was pale and shaking, and it looked like at this point, even the smallest of breaths was enough to make him grimace. His ribs were not thanking him at all for this trip out. And though she had no idea how many drinks he'd had, she could tell the number was too high. He was so drunk he didn't even hear her calling his name. She had to walk up to him and crouch so that they were eye-level before he realized she was there.

She looked him over, worry and pain crowding her features. "Cameron, I'm here," she murmured, loud enough so that he might hear. He shifted, cringing at the pain it inflicted. She started to reach out and grab onto his arms to help him up, but the moment her fingers wrapped around them he was stiffening and yanking himself away. She remembered herself too late, taking her hands back with a hushed: "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Cameron closed his eyes tight, in a mixture of what looked like frustration and lingering fear. It was hard to tell with how spacey he was.

Kay moved without thinking, to what had worked before. She held his face gently in her hands, smoothing her thumbs over his cheeks, and when he looked at her, she smiled. "We're going to go home," she reassured. "But I need to get you up first, Cameron. Okay? We'll go slow, I know you're in pain. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Cameron." He didn't react badly this time, and when she moved to loop his good arm over her neck, he was just as compliant. She held him carefully, trying to avoid his bigger injuries. And once he was up, she could start walking for the car again. They were small, shuffling steps. And it was difficult to weave their way through the other bar patrons.

Cameron only cried out lowly every so often, at a misstep, or when they brushed against someone on accident. Kay heard each one with a heavy heart and apologized every time. She reassured him kindly that they were almost there, that he was doing well, that soon he'd be back in bed and this night would be over. Anything she could say to make it better. Seeing him now, and all the pain he was in, and hearing the shattered words he'd croaked over the phone was enough to make her fall apart. The mental images she could pair with each injury was sickening. She had suspected this entire time, but now that it was certain, somehow it was even worse. She tried not to think about it. To just focus on him.

She got him back to the car, first. She would go back in for Jordan and drag him out with a lot more force and a lot more yelling. She might not even let him in— she might just shove him in the trunk and slam it closed. But Cameron couldn't stay in that bar; the sooner he get out, the better. She let him in in the back and let him lay down there across the seats, because he looked so nauseous. She got him situated and made sure he would be alright. Before she leaned down and put a hand back on his cheek, to make sure he was listening. "I'll be right back, Cameron," she promised. "I have to go get Jordan."

Cameron's eyes pried themselves open, but they caught on something else before he could look at her. They focused down on his arm instead, and the gauze that was poking out from under his sleeve. Kay watched nervously, but only weakened in confusion when his eyes lit up. "Ohhhhh my God," he mumbled, talking like he had a mouthful of something. A smile twitched around the edges of his lips as he let his head fall back on the seat. "I fiiiinally get it." He closed his eyes and his smile got a tiny bit stronger. She hardly heard his scoff. "Snitches get stitches," he giggled, oblivious to the horrified look that came over her face.

She was stuck there for a heartbeat, looking from his arm, to the expression on his face, as it faded back into numbness. Eventually, she wrenched her voice back. "Cameron, I'll— I'll be right back, okay?"

His eyes cracked back open. Even though they were only open a little bit, the sudden sadness there was impossible to overlook. Quietly, he rasped: "C'n you stay with me…? Just…f'r a…little bit?"

Tears blinded her. So sudden and so quick, it took her breath away. But her response came at once. "Of course, Cameron. Of course I'll stay with you." She paused, looking over the car. She turned and sat down on the floor, letting her legs hang out over the edge. This way, her head was by his and he didn't have to move. She looked over him, feeling distinctly as though she was suffering a horrible, tragic death. Something choking, like drowning or suffocation— something where you knew there was an end to it, but you just weren't sure where that end was, exactly.

She leaned to the side, to rest her head on a part of the seat Cameron wasn't on. His eyes were closed. His breathing was deeper than it had been before. She hoped that meant he was falling asleep. That he was resting. That he was given a respite. She would linger with him here for a little bit, and sneak away to find Jordan. Bring them both back and get Cameron back into bed and make sure he was okay. And then hopefully find the ending to this. Not for her. But for him. She would find his end for him. Because he hadn't even deserved for all of this to even start in the first place.

She stayed there beside him. Listening to him breathe and finding herself trying to seek comfort from this tiny thing.

Finding herself curling closer and closer to him.

Not knowing whether it was for his benefit, or for hers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is thirty pages, for some reason. So please enjoy. I will enjoy...sleeping the very second I post this because for some reason I can't finish a chapter for this unless it's five in the morning. I really hope it's good! I was a little less sure on posting this chapter...it seemed like less people were interested when it came to chapter two. So we'll see on chapter three? If some of you are still waiting on Irreversible, that's up next! I've got twenty pages of it written so it'll be up really soon. I know it's been a while since I updated that one, I apologize for that. It's very hard to write the both of these at the same time, especially with their length; I promise I'm doing my best lol. That's why I usually just say I'll keep writing as long as people want me to. Otherwise...I'm very swamped, haha.  
> Anyway. Like always, I hope I got most of the typos and flaws out! And if not, I'd be more than happy to fix anything. It's so late/early please have pity on me. Hopefully you guys like this and I can hear your thoughts on it! 
> 
> PLEASE BE AWARE. I stand by what I said in my very first note: I don't plan on writing any explicit material at all because that's just not what I want to do. However, there is a section of this chapter some people might still find upsetting. If so, you can stop reading after the line: "Magic." And you can pick up again at "Cameron!?" You won't miss anything. The section stays in line with the rest of the story in the way its portrayed, of course, but I just wanted to mention this just in case. I understand some of my writing is heavy and I wouldn't ever want anyone upset by it.

Jordan was the spitting image of a kid that had been caught with their hand halfway out of the cookie jar. A very drunk, stumbling kid that couldn't really get much of anything logical out of their mouth. But he was a guilty kid nonetheless. And if he was the red-handed sneak, then Dina was the one who had poured all her time and energy and love into the snickerdoodles that were now just being swiped right under her nose.

In laymen's terms: Dina was absolutely _pissed_.

The very second they got into the Archive, she and Gunter were waiting at the door. Kay had called Dina when they'd been about halfway there, just to try and stave off as much of a blow-up as she could. Jordan should have absolutely known better than to take Cameron out to that bar, or at least known he shouldn't have left him alone to go chase after some group of girls, but the fact that it was Cameron's idea in the first place couldn't be ignored. Not only because it was so concerning, but also just because if he saw Dina body-slam Jordan into the nearest wall, his guilt from before would come back tripled. By now, he'd stopped apologizing. Ever since he'd laid down in the car, he'd been more asleep than awake. Kay didn't want that to change. She didn't want that guilt to come back— none of it have even been there in the first place.

Getting him up to his feet again had been difficult. She'd almost been desperate enough to call Dina again and ask if Gunter could come out and just carry him in. But at the last second, her whispered pleas for him to get up – "Only for a little bit, we're going right inside. I know you're in pain, but we'll be fast, I promise. You just have to wake up a little bit, Cameron." – seemed to finally rouse him. Agonizingly slow, Cameron had forced his body into motion. She'd helped him out as best she could and caught him before he could fall to the ground. She'd looped his arm over her neck and held to his waist immediately, the routine now set in stone and automatic. And, murmuring apologies and encouragement every so often, she'd helped him towards home.

Now, they were finally inside, and they were met with the two of them standing there with twin scowls on their faces. Though she'd had no part in this whatsoever, Kay suddenly felt like she was back in high school and had come home only to find out her parents actually  _had_ known about the party all along, and now she was ten seconds away from being grounded. But their anger wasn't pointed to her. It was focused solely on Jordan, and even though she shared quite a lot of it – the others hadn't even heard how broken Cameron had sounded on the phone, and it was turning her stomach even now to recall – Kay felt a distinct pull of sympathy when Dina immediately stomped over in his direction. For all it was worth, she could imagine her leaving tiny, flaming footprints behind her as she walked.

Dina's eyes flickered to Cameron as she walked closer, and Kay could see the flash of sorrow that she always tried to hide whenever he was looking. He wasn't nearly aware enough to recognize the reaction— he was barely able to stand. He was swaying and staggering even when he wasn't moving; Kay was forced to hold up a majority of his body weight, but unfortunately, the task was smaller than it should have been. He wasn't even looking at anything going on; he was staring down at the floor between his feet, like maybe if he looked at that, the room would stop spinning. However, given how half-lidded his eyes were, it was questionable as to whether or not he was  _actually_  seeing anything at all.

Despite his apparent lack of attention, Dina was smart enough not to do what Kay was dreading. Instead of laying into Jordan right then and there, she grabbed onto his shoulder and practically wrenched him away. He flailed his arms out as he lost his balance and tried to dig his feels down into the floor. He attempted to give a tiny squeak of alarm or opposition, but Dina wasn't paying any mind, and in her rage, she was ten times stronger than he was. She carted him off without a single issue. Kay glanced over her shoulder and watched her drag him down the hall, already hearing a little bit of her hissed yelling. "You have  _got_  to be kidding me, Jordan, were you using your head  _at all_!? What in the  _world_  would give you the  _smallest idea_  that taking Cameron out to a bar would be a good thing…?" Her voice trailed off the farther they went. Kay lost it once they rounded the corner.

She looked back to see that Gunter was walking over to them. Already, she was bracing herself for some kind of back-handed comment. Something that would sting her unbearably but she would simply take, because she'd promised herself there would be no arguing in front of Cameron. However, to her shock, nothing of the sort came. Instead, all he did was stop a little bit away from them and reach out. His voice was unnaturally softer as well. "I can take him." He was only focusing on Cameron right now— he didn't even look at her or say anything abrasive. There was no anger. Only a lifetime of sorrow and regret in his eyes as he looked at his friend.

Some situations, and you only focused on what was really important.

She nodded once and started to try and shift her body away from Cameron so that Gunter could duck in and replace her. She reached up and started to move Cameron's arm off her neck. They had no choice but to use this one for leverage— the other was the one that bore the 'S' and she couldn't imagine the pain that would be inflicted by the slightest of pressures. However, Cameron was dead weight by this point; shifting him was more difficult than she'd anticipated. She started to wince, in the effort of shifting him off. "Cameron," she tried gently. "Gunter's going to help you back to y— to Jonathan's room."

Gunter started to step closer, but Cameron refused to help any. He stayed put where he was, keeping his head lowered. Kay stilled and sobered when she felt his arm move just enough to get back over her shoulders. His grip got the smallest bit tighter. The motion seemed to be a subconscious one. But it immediately made something in her chest pull oddly. Gunter's eyes flashed with surprise. Kay wasn't sure what to say at first…if she had to say anything. Finally, she just murmured: "I'll just…go ahead and take him..."

Gunter said nothing, still looking at Cameron. But he nodded once, and Kay took the agreement before he could change his mind. She readjusted her hold on Cameron and took the shuffling steps he could manage, making down for Jonathan's room. She was grateful it wasn't on the second floor, otherwise the effort would be tenfold. About halfway there she thought she heard Dina's voice drift towards them, heightened now in a yell, saying something about how she didn't care if Cameron had suggested they go out and get  _ice cream_ — they still shouldn't have gone. It sounded as though she was going to pull out the 'If he'd jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge, would you too?' guns. She just hoped Cameron was deaf to it.

They reached the room and Kay eased them both inside. "Okay," she exhaled, nearing the bed and starting to move so she could lower him down. "Here we are…the bed is right there, Cameron, you're okay to—" She couldn't even finish before he was collapsing like he weighed five million pounds. He hit the mattress with a dull thud and a whooshing sigh that might have been more comical had it not been for the situation. Her expression was worn with sorrow and regret, but at the huff, the tiniest bit of amusement lingered there as well. He was sprawled out awkwardly. She shook her head, a miniscule smile tugging at the corner of her lip. "Are you comfortable like that?" she asked.

Cameron replied, but given that he was face-down on the bed, she couldn't understand him.

She assumed it was a safe bet that it was either something snarky, or something that didn't make sense in the first place.

"Come on, Cam," she offered indulgently. "I'm going to take your arm, alright?" Maybe if she warned him beforehand, he wouldn't get as set off. Sure enough, when she did grab his wrist to help him turn, he didn't yank himself away. Thankfully, he was compliant enough to twist so he could be on his back. For all his expression said, though, he was dead asleep. He'd had way too much to drink. She noted this with nothing but a silent shake of the head. She was more than sure Dina would be lecturing him in the morning. Much gentler than she was Jordan at the moment, because she was pretty sure she had already hit him twice with a book, or something of that relatively heavy nature. But a lecture all the same.

For now, she just set to work arranging Cameron as best she could. She put a pillow underneath his head and untwisted his arms, being careful of the injured one. He was lifeless, so at least he was easy to move and manipulate. All he offered was a tiny mumble or whine of pain every so often, to which she met with soft apologies. She was starting to take off his shoes for him, when he suddenly spoke, practically scaring the daylights out of her. It was just a mumble, and the letters were so muddy she had difficulty even understanding one from the other. But maybe it was the oddity of the question that helped her wrap her head around it. "Wha' was Isaac's  _problem_?" he slurred, his forehead creasing as his head fell to the side.

She blinked a few times, staring at him in surprise. The inquiry came out of nowhere. Eventually she managed to tear her gaze away and clear her throat. "Isaac?" she repeated, uselessly.

Cameron mumbled a little under his breath before he drawled: "Yeah, why…why w'sn't he  _good_  'nough for you?" The way he asked this was like they were having a sleepover and whining about exes together. The alcohol made absolutely everything he said sound nonchalant. And sloppily so. She would have been laughing at him if they were in any other situation.

She pursed her lips and went back to wriggling his shoes off. "He…it wasn't…" She fumbled for the right words. "We were just different," she got out after a while. She set Cameron's shoes down by the bed and moved to drape the blanket over him, all the way up to tuck under his chin. "There were too many…secrets," she sighed. "I couldn't live with them. I couldn't be happy with them."

To her surprise, Cameron heaved another sigh. This time, though, it was disappointed and soft. She pulled back to see that he was wearing a bleary frown. "Mmm. I have…a secret, I have a big secret, 'm— not good either...not good…'nough for you…" She froze. She stared at him like she'd never seen him before. His eyes were closing. At the last second, though, he inhaled sharply, and forced them back open. He didn't look at her— he was staring vacantly to the side. But he reached out with his bad arm – she could see the gauze poke out when he did – and he mumbled sloppily: "Wait— wait, hol' on, I got…I got…two of 'em." She watched as he tried to flash her two fingers but ended up with more like four. He let his arm fall back down to the bed. He exhaled in a thin hiss: "Wait…do…d'you know about Jonathan?" Like it was a secret and if someone even heard him ask in the first place, he would get into so much trouble.

Her throat was hot. It felt like forever before she could reply. "Yes, Cameron. I know about him."

He nodded weakly. "Oh…then…n'vermind. I only have…the one. But 's a big one." He let out a sigh that shook a little on its way out. "'nd I can't tell you…I can never tell you, it's—" His expression was getting foggier, and his voice was dropping in volume and clarity at the same time. He was closing his eyes again. He was exhausted; everything in Kay was wanting to tell him to just be quiet and go back to sleep like he had in the car. But she couldn't bring herself to, despite the fact she saw the subtle distress on his face. It was faint, like it was miles away, but it was still there. He sounded more choked. His voice was thicker. "Can…n'ver tell 'nyone, what…I d'n't…I c'n't…"

"Cameron, that's enough," she soothed, pained now. "Just go to bed. You don't have to stay awake."

The reassurance seemed to be exactly what he was waiting for. His lips continued to twitch, like he was still talking, but he began to relax. He sagged back into the pillow and his mumbling faded off into nothing. Kay stood there and watched, and in less than three minutes he'd fallen asleep completely. His mumbles had changed to soft snores. He was out. But still, Kay found she couldn't move. She stood at his bed and stared down at him emptily, her heart pained at what she saw.

Because he looked so peaceful. Asleep and dead to the world, he looked like his old self, if she could manage to see past the bruising on his face. His expression wasn't heavy or strained. It was clear. Happy. Or…the happiest that she had seen him since he'd gotten back home. Only when he was asleep, did he look like the Cameron she knew. And she found, standing there, that she would give anything at all to have that Cameron back with her. She found that seeing it now just hurt her more, and her chest was yawning with pain at the knowledge that when he opened his eyes tomorrow morning, this Cameron would be gone. Replaced by someone she didn't know, and someone she couldn't help, even though she was trying as best she could.

Standing there, she started to cry.

He wouldn't hear her. But she couldn't keep the objection back. It was practically begging to be let out.

"You're wrong," she croaked.

Cameron didn't even twitch. Her eyes welled more, as she pictured Jonathan's cold stare, engrained permanently in her mind. The way her heart had shattered when he'd met her confession with nothing but ice. She'd confessed, but she had confessed to the wrong person. Her heart had been broken, and she hadn't even had a moment's time to address that fact since everything had come to light. She couldn't possibly confess now. She couldn't add to this. But she couldn't bear to hear Cameron say that. Even on the off-chance it wasn't what he'd meant.

"You're good enough for me, Cameron," she whispered, her words echoing in the dark. She only grew more choked when he just continued to sleep. "You've always been good enough for me."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd brought food back with her because she was starting to suspect that the others were neglecting themselves in their efforts to take care of Cameron. She'd brought  _actual_  food, too— not fast food, which was what had been clogging the trash cans ever since this all had started. She'd cooked it herself – it wasn't much, it was just spaghetti – but for all Dina had reacted, she may as well have handed them all five million dollars. She'd been over the moon and spouting thank-yous like she was fountain. It had still been hot, so they had all sat down and started to eat. Dina had set Cameron's plate down at his chair, which was empty.

Kay had been hungry on the way in, but the sight of Cameron's empty space had made her hunger pangs vanish. She hesitated, but figured the silence was awkward enough as it was. Asking a difficult question wasn't going to make it much worse, because she wasn't sure that was even possible. "Where's Cameron?" she asked. Had he been out more, today? Had he been here already, and eaten something with them? The act was simple, but she knew his willful interaction would speak volumes.

Dina didn't look up from the table. Her voice was a little tauter than usual when she replied. "He's in…Jonathan's room, still. He'd just gotten out of the shower, when you came in." She scooted some of the noodles around with her fork. Despite her eagerness at the thought of home-cooked food, she didn't seem to be very hungry anymore either. Her voice dropped to nothing more than a mumble, and the words were spiked with a different kind of emotion. One that was harder to pin down. Or maybe Kay just didn't want to. "It was…his third one, today," she exhaled.

Kay's face fell as she looked down at her food. She put down her fork. She was painfully aware that Gunter was staring her down, but she wasn't in the mood to try and figure out exactly why. She wasn't in the mood and she didn't think she could anyway. She just offered something that she hoped might help. "Does that mean he's getting around better?" she asked. It would be the one silver lining in the storm clouds overhead. But at this point, the tiniest of slivers would be better than what they had.

Dina's lips were still pursed, though. "No," she replied. Her voice was staying just as short, her words separated into little staccatos. She was picking her words carefully, but no amount of care could cushion the blow that they inflicted. "But when I tried to get him to stop walking, he did  _not_  take that well at all. So. I decided not to push him." She only got terser when her eyes flickered up to Jordan, flashing with anger. "He's been sick, today, as well. He's thrown up  _four_  times. Eaten absolutely  _nothing_.  _Jordan_."

Jordan was hunched over on the table, eating spaghetti with one arm and holding up his head with the other. He didn't look so good, either. Not sick, but just tired and very done with what looked like had been a horrible day. He grimaced, and the tone of his voice gave off the vibe that he had been getting comments like this all day long. Which was good, it was what he deserved. Kay couldn't keep her own glare off her face when she looked at him. "I know, I  _know_ , I  _said_ I was sorry like  _a million times_ ," he mumbled.

Gunter reached over and slammed a hand down on the table right next to him. Jordan jumped almost a foot out of his chair, and then immediately cringed from the rush of pain that loud noise inflicted. He held his head in both hands and hissed sharply underneath his breath. Gunter held absolutely no trace of remorse, though, as he sat back in his chair. "Sorry," he apologized, not meaning it whatsoever. "My hand slipped."

Jordan looked up and glared at him. " _Look_ , you two would have done the same exact thing if he'd asked you!" Kay closed her eyes as Dina and Gunter were already starting to object— as this was already escalating into a fight. The tension had been in the air before now, but apparently this was the moment that would finally cause it to crack. Jordan wasn't going to listen to them, though. He just yelled over the pair. "No, no, you  _would have_!" he yelled. "You  _couldn't_  have looked at him when he asked you to take him out and said no!"

"We could have, because we're not  _morons_!" Gunter snapped.

"He was _smiling_!" Jordan yelled. And maybe it was the volume of his voice, maybe it was the way it sounded so heartbreaking, maybe it was the fact that they instantly realized what he meant, that got everyone to shut up. Because immediately, Dina and Gunter snapped their mouths closed. Their angry stares lost their edge, and they only melted further when Jordan rushed on. By now, he was getting upset, and finding it difficult to pump the brakes. "He was _smiling_ at me when he asked— the entire time he's been home, he hasn't smiled  _once,_ and he was smiling when he asked me to take him out!

"And yeah, I shouldn't have had anything to drink, I shouldn't have let  _him_ drink so much, I should have been thinking and I shouldn't have let us stay that long! But I did all that because he was  _happy_! Because he  _kept_ smiling! Because he was the closest thing to the old Cameron I've seen in a week!" He was getting worked up and talking way too loudly. But everyone was too shell-shocked to interject. They just listened, their expressions hollow. "He was telling jokes, he was laughing, he was singing along to stupid songs! He was himself! Or the closest yet! So _yeah_ , I took him out to a bar and I shouldn't have, but  _don't_ tell me you wouldn't have done the same thing if you saw him the way I did! If you could have spent time with him again the way I did!"

Silence followed his words for what felt like ages. Until…

"He was so drunk, Jordan, how in the  _world_  could you have thought that counted?" Dina whispered.

Jordan exhaled heavily. He winced and ducked his head. He didn't have an answer.

Dina pushed her plate away. There was still half of it left. "No more alcohol," she stated, very firmly. " _None_. None in the house, no letting him go out. This is  _not_ going to develop into a problem. We are  _not_ going to let him try and fix this with drinking." She sounded like she was going to ill— the way Kay felt. But she stayed firm on her point. "We can't let him replace one thing with another."

Silence again, but at least this one felt more like an agreement.

Nobody started eating again.

Kay cleared her throat eventually. "I'm going to go…try and talk to him," she murmured, pausing for a second to awkwardly ask: "If that's alright…" As if she needed permission. Dina just nodded. She murmured something about wrapping up his plate and heating it up later just in case he wanted it as she got up and took it away. Kay stood for a second more at the table before she started to take her leave as well. When she was stopped in her tracks.

"Why does he want you?"

She turned to see Gunter staring her down again. "Excuse me?"

Gunter's expression was a mix of anger and something else. The anger was blatant…the other emotion was impossible to describe or understand. She couldn't place it. "Why does he want you?" he repeated, louder this time. She said nothing. He continued. "Last night. Why did he stay with you? And why did he  _call you_? Me and Dina were here— he knew that. He knew we'd come for him, if he asked. But for some reason…he called  _you_ , instead. He went to  _you_ for help." His forehead creased. " _Why_?"

She was mute for a long while. Her reply stuck in her throat. "I don't know."

Gunter wasn't satisfied with the answer. "And why do you let him?"

"I…I don't under—"

" _No. Why_ do you let him come to you for help, when  _you're_ the one that did this to him?" Gunter demanded.

Her mouth went dry. Too many emotions burned themselves into life underneath her skin, all at once but discernable all the same. Anger at the implication she had anything to do with the state Cameron was in, shame and guilt because she knew she absolutely did have a part in this, remorse over where Cameron was right now, confusion because she was wondering the exact same thing, frustration that Gunter was still against her even though it did nothing at all to help their situation…the list continued from there, but she didn't want to delve into it. However, the emotions were so strong, they blinded her. And the wrong response slipped out of her mouth. It wasn't the correct one— the one she knew she should have said. It was her honest response. What she truly thought. "I didn't do this to Cameron," she objected forcefully, before she could think. " _Jonathan_  did this to Cameron."

And as soon as she said this, Gunter was shoving himself away from the table and shooting up to his feet. He was scowling, and hands were clenching tightly at his sides as if he was trying to restrain himself. Stumbling over himself in his haste, Jordan rushed to get up too, and he planted himself between the two of them, throwing out an arm towards Gunter in warning. "Hey,  _hey_ — stop. We don't need this right now." Gunter wasn't even looking at him; he was staring at Kay with enough anger to melt her on the spot.

She locked her jaw backwards and met his glare. Holding the same amount of coldness in her stare that Jonathan had when he'd last looked at her, knowingly deceiving her and everyone else, and leaving Cameron behind, abandoned in prison. Gunter was fuming, but Jordan was still keeping him back. He went on to try and curb his anger— a tall order considering Gunter was also furious at him. But Kay wasn't in the mood to linger and listen to his efforts. She turned and went down the hall, leaving them both behind her.

Cameron's – or Jonathan's? – door was cracked like always. She suspected that Dina was purposefully never letting it stay all the way closed. Still, she knocked on it before she entered. And she waited for an audible response, which she was surprised to actually get. "Yeah." She pushed her way inside and saw that he was in bed already. He was looking towards the door, but not at her; to the hallway behind her. She stilled in the entryway, something in her stomach twisting with distinct pain at the look on his face. In the glow of the light from outside, she could see that his expression was more than strained. That his eyes were bright with pain. Even though he turned away fast, the look lingered in her mind.

She swallowed. The question came before she could stop it. "How much did you hear?"

He didn't answer, but he didn't need to. It was on his face. She glanced over her shoulder, still able to hear a little bit of Jordan and Gunter fighting. She stepped inside and shut the door to cut it off. She hesitated there for a moment, feeling the tension in the room, before she turned around and started to walk towards the bed. Cameron still wasn't looking at her – she recalled his tearful apology the night before – so she stopped a couple feet away. His hair was still wet. She'd gotten a good look at him when the hall light had broken into the dark of the room. He'd looked completely exhausted, like Jordan. Only, the nausea on his face was tripled and added to. He was still feeling the pain from the night before. So it was obvious, but she still asked: "How are you feeling?"

"Like crap," he sighed, and despite the hollow ring to his voice, she was surprised at how relieved the reply made her. The tiny flash of snarkiness she hadn't gotten at all since he'd been back. It wasn't much, but she was trying to grasp at the tiniest of straws at this point. She was also trying to wrack her brain for something else to say, when he beat her to the punch. "I'm sorry. Kay. I don't know what I was…" The explanation failed. Maybe because he realized whatever he was about to say wasn't true. Whatever it was, he amended it. "I'm sorry I called you, I didn't…you shouldn't have come, you didn't need to."

"Cameron, don't be ridiculous," she objected softly. "I wasn't going to leave you there." He didn't say anything in reply. She tried to hedge on. "I didn't mind, Cameron, really. It was no trouble. I was glad to get you home, and get you safe, and…" She took in a bit of a quicker breath. "I'd do it again," she said. "If you needed me to."

It was harder to see his reactions when they were in the dark like this. There were no lights on in the room, so she mainly just got a silhouette and the smallest sense of his face. Selfishly, she was almost glad. That she didn't have to see him fully, and whatever was there. He didn't address the sentiment when he broke the silence. "I don't remember anything…" he exhaled. She frowned. This time there was a longer pause of silence before he dared to ask, in barely a whisper: "What did I do? What all…did I say?"

There was too much fear in this last question. Too much anxiety and mortification, and she knew from the very instant he asked, she shouldn't be honest. "Not much," she began, speaking slow. "You were out of it. I found you, and I took you back here…Dina was furious at Jordan, so I got you back into bed. You told me…that you'd been planning on breaking Jonathan out of prison when he forced you to switch places with him. You…were apologizing a lot." There was a pause, before she decided. "That was about it. You were mumbling some things…but there wasn't much else. You'd had a lot to drink."

The quiet that followed her answer was layered thick with skepticism. He actually glanced at her now, like he was checking to see if she was lying. But if anything, Kay had a brilliant poker face when she wanted to, and she kept it up. He looked away again. And again, she could recall the sobbing that had been on the other line. ''m s'ry I can't look at you.' It brought to mind everything else he'd said— everything else he'd almost said or had been trying to say but was crying too hard to. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, for something else to focus on.

"I'm glad you called me, Cameron," she insisted. He kept his eyes trained upwards. "You can…call me whenever you need me. Any time. I'll always answer." This promise was made without a single shred of hesitation. She could be chasing a killer, and she would stop to answer Cameron before her phone could even ring for its third time. The force behind this was enough to get that point across. "No matter what. I want to help you. That's— that's all any of us want to do, I mean. So…don't apologize for last night. You can do it again…however many times you need to."

The sentiment didn't touch him, though. Far from it.

When he spoke, it was quiet, and laden with far too much guilt and regret for her to even come close to fathoming.

"I don't _want_  to need to."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was supposed to be pretending she was working, but she'd gotten more and more distracted, and now Kay was just sitting, staring down at her desk with a blank look on her face. Her computer was asleep, and the files in front of her were untouched. She'd meant to do more work than she actually had. She'd meant to help the cause more. But she'd been preoccupied. Thinking too much. Worrying too much and fretting too much. She was waiting for updates from Dina, and every single time her phone buzzed, she practically yanked it up to see if it was her with some news.

The past couple of days, and there hadn't been progress. On any fronts. Jonathan was still gone; there was no sign of him, or the mystery woman, if they really were together. The other Black twin was just as good at deception as Cameron was…there wasn't even the tiniest hint of him anywhere. Years of hiding himself helped his resume. It truly was like he had just been a figment of their imagination this whole time. They were still trying…they hadn't given up hope, at least in the technical sense. But still.

And there was no progress on the other side of the equation, either. Or maybe there was, but it wasn't as much as she – and anyone else – wanted. Cameron was still in bed most of the time, with the lights all off and the door closed, whenever Dina wasn't there to secretly open it back up just a little bit. He still didn't talk or eat much. At the rate he was refusing things, they were going to have to take him back to the hospital for malnourishment all over again. But whenever he did eat something, it was always bound to come back up. As it was, he tended to greet the day by getting sick. His voice was recovering in miniscule amounts, and his bruised ribs were getting easier to breathe around with every passing day. But that was about it when it came to good news.

He was still getting up too much to take showers. The team had stopped trying to fight him on that one, picking their fight instead with the whole 'eating' issue. Dina had texted her that he'd brushed his teeth twenty-three times throughout the duration of yesterday. That the bags under his eyes were getting darker, and that she was thinking of going out and buying him melatonin or even Zzzquil, just to knock him out for a little while. If he would even take the medicine. All these pieces of news combined and layered on top of her, and she felt like she was being smothered slowly, and suffocating because of it. But she knew it had to be ten times worse for Cameron.

Last night, she'd asked Dina if she'd thought of broaching the topic of therapy with Cameron yet.

She had said she hadn't even dared to go there, yet.

Regrettably, Kay had to admit that it was probably wise of her.

She couldn't sleep herself, she was so worried about him. She was worried she'd wake up to another call from him either hurt or panicking or upset over something. She was worried he would do something even stupider than the bar thing…that he would get himself into trouble, or hurt himself, and she wouldn't be able to help him because she was sleeping. But mostly she couldn't fall asleep simply because he was on her mind. The exhausted look on his face, the way he'd sounded on the phone, how his voice had crumbled when he'd been rambling as she was putting him to bed…all those and more were playing over and over in her head, and she couldn't possibly relax.

It was too difficult to ignore the pain in her heart.

"Agent Daniels?"

She jerked, looking up from her desk and blinking like she'd been shaken out of a dream. She looked to see Deakins standing a few feet away. The way she was looking at her, it seemed like she had been there for a little while, trying to get her attention. Immediately, Kay straightened, shaking her head to try and clear it. "I'm…I'm sorry," she managed weakly. "I…I was just trying to figure out…where we should—"

"How is he doing?" Deakins asked, cutting through whatever excuse she was trying to conjure.

Kay stopped short, a little caught off-guard. And she only grew more so when she saw the genuine concern that was in her superior's eyes. She cleared her throat and sat back more, dropping her files which she'd only started to stack to try and make it look like she was doing something. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she had an inkling it wasn't quite as effective as she wanted it to be. "He's…not very well…actually," she rasped. Deakins sobered, sorrow bringing her eyebrows together. "He's…having a hard time with his recovery. We're doing all we can to help him." And yet it still wasn't enough. She didn't add this part. But it still hurt to acknowledge.

"Oh…well…I was…just doing some digging…" Deakins murmured, walking the rest of the way to her desk and setting down three folders for her. Kay reached out and starting to thumb through them. "They're just a few cold cases we haven't done much of anything with recently. They had…too many variables that didn't make sense…too many confusing details. I…gathered them all together, I thought…" She trailed off. The concerned look didn't leave her face.

Kay's own expression began to wilt. She looked through them all, her heart growing heavier with each one. Before she put the tiny stack down and looked at her regretfully. "No." She answered the question Deakins didn't ask. Her superior didn't seem surprised at all. Just disheartened. "He can't. Not yet. It'd be too much for him." She pictured how he might have been before. How his eyes would have lit up as he made a grab for all the papers at once. How happy he would have been to have so many cases at his disposal, or how pleased he would have sounded when he leaned over to hiss excitedly into her ear: 'She found all these for  _me_ — does that mean she finally likes me? Does that mean I can get a badge too? Are you allowed to flash a peace sign when they take your photo? Or I can wear some really cool sunglasses…'

The thought brought too much pain to her chest.

"Of course." Deakins started to gather up the files again. "I just thought…maybe some tiny ones…to distract him." The gesture was surprising, and warmer than Kay had anticipated. This entire time, Deakins had been beside herself trying to find Jonathan— it was all she'd been doing. She hadn't mentioned Cameron once, and Kay had just accepted he was a lesser rung of importance to her in the time being. Now, there was that same apprehension on her face that the team wore. Not nearly as much, but it was there. And as she straightened, concentrating far more than she needed to on lining up the folders so they were perfectly together, she offered: "Please tell him we're all waiting for him. And…that we hope for the best."

Her mouth was dry. She didn't know whether to cry because this was so touching, or cry because it was happening in the first place. "Of course," she rasped eventually. "I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

Deakins nodded once. She lingered, like she wanted to say something else. But before she caved into the apparent temptation, she was turning and walking away. Kay watched her go, her expression slowly falling. Her heart slowly squeezing and twisting in agony. She stared after her for quite some time. Before she just turned and looked back down at her desk, fully giving up the effort of trying to make it seem like she was focused on work.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She was cooking something fast and easy, because she wasn't all that hungry. She'd been tempted to just pick something up on the way home, but at the same time, some part of her knew that cooking was better. She could forget a majority of what was happening when she did. She could just concentrate instead on temperatures and chopping and boiling. Not that she wanted to forget it all entirely…it was just nice, if only briefly, not to have the constant worry and fear claw at her chest. To breathe easy. To pretend that everything was normal and Cameron was fine and Jonathan was still here and—

The instant her phone started to ring she was snapping out of it. She dropped her knife and abandoned the half-cut carrot on the chopping board, rushing over to the counter and snatching it up. It was Dina. The last she had heard from her, she'd said Cameron had been having a better day. She'd said he actually came out and sat with them on the couch to watch TV, albeit silently. It was why Kay hadn't gone over to visit tonight— she had wanted him to  _stay_  happy like that, and she knew her intruding would have probably make him withdraw again.

So what now? Did something change?

Her heart was in her throat when she lifted the phone up to her ear. "Hello?"

There wasn't an answer at first. Kay's eyes narrowed in confusion. She could hear voices way far in the background, only able to do so because they were yells. She couldn't make sense of a lot of what they were saying, but it sounded like fighting. Like rushed back-and-forths. Jordan and Gunter? Were they  _still_  bickering? The thought brought on a sting of impatience. Could they not focus on Cameron? Surely the arguing was just making everything worse for him? "Hello?" Kay repeated, louder. "Dina, did you mean to call me? What's going on? Why is there—?"

"Oh! Kay!" Dina sounded surprised, like she hadn't been expecting Kay to actually answer. Or like she'd gotten distracted and had forgotten she called her in the first place. Kay wasn't dwelling on the oddity, though; she was trying to figure out why Dina was whispering. In the confused gap, the voices in the background faded into nothing; Dina must have moved away from them. "Um…so are you— are you  _doing anything_ , Kay? Are you busy?" This was asked awkwardly, and way too casually, like she was asking if she wanted to go to the mall.

She turned the stove off. "No, why? Is something wrong? How's Cameron? Who was yelling?" She wasn't really being mindful of hiding her concern. At this point, it was useless.

"Uh…it's just— we were just sitting and all of a sudden…" Kay was getting more and more worried.

Her apprehension only multiplied when Dina blurted out: "Can you just come over?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It didn't take her very long at all to get to get to the Archive. Paranoia and worry made things go quicker, like that. When she rushed up to the door, she could hear it again: that yelling, muffled and muted. She knocked and waited, trying to edge closer and make out who it was, or what they were saying. Before she could, though, the door flew open, and Dina was there, alarmed and flustered, but mostly relieved to see who was on the doorstep. "Kay!" she cried out, surprise injected artificially into the greeting. Kay smiled, but it was much too nervous to be effective. "You're here!"

She could hear the shouting echoing down the hall.

It wasn't Jordan and Gunter yelling at each other, after all. Cameron was the one who was yelling.

" _How can you— you aren't helping!"_

Jordan's voice was harder to make out— he was trying to keep his voice soothing. "Cameron, we…" The rest of it was lost.

Cameron's reply wasn't, though.  _"How!? Just— get out of my way!"_

Kay looked at Dina in confusion. He sounded awake…so what was the matter? Dina shook her head and closed the door behind her, grabbing her hand to pull her towards Jonathan's room. "He hasn't stopped for the past hour," she whispered. "At first it wasn't bad, but the longer it went on, the more upset he got. He just isn't— none of us can get through to him. We've been trying."

Kay regarded her oddly. "And you think  _I'll_ be able to?"

She wasn't sure what kind of look Dina gave her in response. She didn't actually say anything, though. They'd gotten to his room by now. The door was wide open, not cracked. And Kay's stomach immediately dropped. Cameron was out of bed and the lights were on. Both of which were good signs…but that was where they stopped. He'd been out of bed for too long— he was supporting himself against the wall with his good arm, to keep himself from falling. He looked drained, but more than that, he looked half-crazed. His eyes were wide and startled, and he was looking at Gunter and Jordan with open hostility. Way too much of it, in fact, like they were trying to attack him.

Jordan was still trying to calm him down. Gunter was tight-lipped at his side— apparently all the fighting between them was forgotten for now, to try and handle this situation. But even so, he seemed too worked-up to help Jordan out at the moment. He was just staring at Cameron with clear pain in his eyes. He wasn't even trying to hide it. "Cameron, we've told you over and over," Jordan was pressing. Cameron fumed, glaring daggers at him. Jordan kept going anyway. "There's nothing wrong. Everything's fine, you just need to calm down and—"

" _I_ can't _calm down! It's_ horrible _, I_ don't _understand why nobody else is freaking out!"_  he yelled. Each word was separated and heavy. He was practically screeching. None of them seemed surprised by the volume, though. None of them seemed surprised by anything, really. This had been going on for an hour?  _"It smells horrible!"_  he screamed, frustration and desperation making his words shake. Kay weakened at how high-strung he was. Dina had said he hadn't started out upset. Now he was way past his limit.  _"I'm just trying to find out what it is, you're—"_ He jerked, his eyes catching on the doorway for the first time. He stiffened as he realized Kay was there. Before she could say anything, he was whirling back to Jordan and Gunter, absolutely furious. "Oh, what,  _you called her!?"_ he all but spat.

The pair was just as surprised as he was. "No, I— I didn't call her, Cameron," Jordan blustered. He looked at Gunter. "Did…did you…?"

Gunter was glaring at her, to nobody's surprise. "I certainly didn't."

Kay decided that was as good an opening as she was going to get. Though her steps were hesitant, and her voice was even more so, she didn't retreat. "I was just…stopping by to see how you were doing," she lied, figuring that was the best option. She frowned, trying not to look at him with too much open concern as she walked in. But the feat was more than difficult to actually accomplish. "Cameron…what's going on? What's happening?"

"It smells  _horrible_ in here!" he snapped, yelling again as he only looked at her to throw her a scathing glower. There was so much anger behind it, it made her stop a little short. Her frown worsened. "The entire house smells horrible and I'm just trying to find it and  _nobody will let me and it's driving me crazy, I can't breathe!"_  He turned, making a grab for his blankets and yanking them off the bed. The pillows had been messed up already, but now he just tugged everything as a whole. Kay grimaced as he shoved it to the side, not even glancing at the mess before he turned to the bedside table and ripped it open. He started to tear through that, too. Everything he did was panicked and rushed.

Kay tried to figure out what he was talking about. But she didn't notice anything. She glanced at the other three. They were all at a loss. Dina was watching Cameron sorrowfully, as he grumbled to himself and dug practically everything out of the drawer just to dump it on the ground. She looked at Kay and Kay had no idea why she looked so hopeful. Why she thought she could do anything they hadn't, yet.

She closed her eyes and took in a slow breath. Letting it out just as gradually, she turned back to Cameron and smiled. She made her voice as comforting as possible as she stepped even closer. "Cameron…" He ignored her, turning and rushing to the bookshelf so he could start flinging everything off the shelves. She saw that he'd already ruined the desk in a similar manner. There was a chest at the foot of Jonathan's bed, and everything had been flung out of there, too. The entire room was getting ransacked— he was running out of things to throw aside. Was he planning on going through the whole Archive? "Cameron, there's no smell," Kay pressed, raising her volume a little bit. Again, Cameron ignored her. "Cameron! It smells fine in here."

He straightened too quickly. Part of the reason he was yelling so much was probably just because of the pain rushing around like this was causing him. A frustrated growl died in the back of his throat. He didn't look at her, but he did chuck whatever he was holding down to the ground with more force. It slammed into the floorboards with a harsh thud and Kay winced away from it. Or, it was more likely that she winced away from his yell, which came at the same time.  _"Look! I don't know what's wrong with all of you, but something smells terrible, and I'm just trying to find out where it's coming from! I'm not doing anything wrong! The only reason this is taking so long is because you guys are staring at me like I'm an idiot when I'm the only one who actually notices it!"_  The longer this went on, the more unwound he was becoming. Kay saw his hands shake as he limped to the dresser against the wall and started to tear clothes out of there.

Kay forced herself to trail after him, keeping a distance she hoped he would find comfortable. "What does it smell like to you, Cameron?" she asked gently. "What do you think it is?"

He kept yanking out Jonathan's shirts, flinging them behind him carelessly as he searched for the source of whatever it was he was smelling. He didn't answer her— in fact, at her question, he clamped his mouth tightly closed. His eyes narrowed, and his arms moved faster, clearing out the first drawer and moving to the second to get rid of all those shirts, too. Kay sidestepped to avoid getting hit. She leaned over more to try and see his face; it was pinched. He looked nauseated. She tensed as she saw his shoulders tighten, and his upper body jerk forward. His harsh movements faltered for a brief second as he closed his eyes and started to gag. She started to rush for him, in case he got sick. But he was already pushing it down— shaking himself and just going back to ripping everything apart.

"It's disgusting." His voice was getting quieter, and thicker. She saw that his eyes were welling up with water— whether it was because of the smell he thought he was getting, or from frustration or anger, she couldn't tell. Maybe it was a little bit of both. "It's  _disgusting_ , I'm just trying to find it," he managed. He was down to the third drawer. Agony slapped itself across his face as he stooped down without thinking. It wasn't enough to deter him, though. Whatever he thought was in the air was worse than the fact his sides felt like they were being stabbed.

Kay knew that the line had to be drawn, and fast. She started to reach out towards him. "Cameron, let's calm down, okay? Here— you shouldn't be up moving like this, you need to lay down again. I can—"

" _I have to figure out where this is coming from!"_  he yelled.  _"I can't keep smelling it, I can't!"_

She closed her eyes against the shouts but composed herself when she opened them again. "Cameron. Listen to me. Please," she begged. "There's  _no_ smell. There's no smell— it smells perfectly fine in here." He gritted his teeth and scowled as he gathered up all the shirts and threw them aside, hard against the wall. He went down to the fourth drawer. "Cameron, you have to stop. You're upsetting yourself, you're—"

" _Just because you can't smell it doesn't mean—!"_  He jerked and gagged again, and this time he looked two seconds away from vomiting. But again, he choked it back, and just kept going. Refusing to let himself stop.

She shook her head and crouched down to be on his level. His scowl deepened, but he didn't look at her. His eyes were really watery, by now. "Alright, Cameron, look— we can fix it for you, we want to help you." He seethed, and still didn't falter. "We'll open all the windows, Cameron. The entire Archive— every single window. And we'll light every candle we have— I'll even go get more candles if it's not enough. We can spray air freshener, we can bake cookies, we can do anything. If you relax and stop moving around so much, we can start—"

" _I'm not stupid, Kay!"_  he snapped, whirling around to look at her again. But again, the only way he could was if he was glaring daggers into her. The rage in his expression took her breath away. With how surprised she was, he was able to sweep on. His voice was getting thicker and thicker.  _"I'm not stupid, I'm not a kid! All of you look at me like I'm a charity case, or I'm not able to do anything for myself and you're horrible at hiding it, all of you are! I just want to do this, just let me do this! Stop treating me like I'm crazy!"_  He was rushing through it all, too fast for her to interrupt.  _"I'm not crazy, I'm not going crazy!"_  His voice broke into pieces with this declaration. There was a desperation to this cry. But was it desperation to get her to understand…or to get himself to understand?  _"I'm_ not _going crazy because something smells terrible and I'm just trying to find it I'm just trying to_ find it _! I'm not going crazy!"_

"I know, Cameron, I know," Kay reassured. He was hyperventilating, and his hands were trembling much too hard to not be noticed by this point. He was having a panic attack. He only grew more agitated the longer she tried to console him. She had to reel him back in somehow, but so far, she wasn't enough. "I know you're not crazy…but you have to understand— there's  _nothing to find_. You're  _not_  going to find anything. You're just going to hurt yourself, okay?"

He ducked his head and she saw his foundations begin to crumble. The second Cameron gave up on anger and started to let that slip, she realized just how fatigued he was, and how tired. How pale and sick, like he really could vomit at any time, and probably would have, if he'd just had something in his stomach to begin with. How even his clothes seemed a little looser on him than they should have been. How sad and alone and ruined he looked, when he ducked his head low. With his anger, she hadn't noticed it as much. It had been like protective armor, and now it was stripping itself away.

Which she thought was bad enough.

Until he spoke, and she heard how broken his voice was. "I can't keep smelling it," he cried, this time barely audible. Kay's stomach dropped. She immediately had to gnash her teeth together to keep herself centered— to keep herself from forgetting what position she was in. Because she couldn't react emotionally; not right now. She was the one that had to be strong, so she could help him. But unbelievable pain wrapped around her heart when she had to hear how shattered and fragmented he sounded. How hopeless. "I can't keep smelling it, it's so horrible, I can't breathe…" Now she was the one at risk of throwing up. Dina broke into action and ran over to kneel beside him on the floor. She wrapped her arms around him, putting her head on his shoulder. Kay waited tensely to see how he would react to the contact, but he didn't. He was holding his head in his hands, curling his fingers down and digging his nails into his skull. He took in a quicker breath, and his next words came out in a harsh, grating sob. " _I can't keep smelling it! I can't keep doing this!"_

"Shhh, Cameron, darling,  _please_ ," Dina begged, her voice weakening with the beg. "Please calm down, Cameron, please, it's okay, it's okay, we're here— we're here for you…"

Kay looked between them, the stone in her chest growing.

Cameron hunched low, like he was trying to curl in on himself but Dina's arms and his own pain were keeping him from doing so. His lips were shaking wildly now; he looked absolutely sickened. Dina's attempts at reassurances weren't helping, either. In fact, the pandering only seemed to rub him the wrong way. He closed his eyes tighter, and a low keening wail escaped through tightly-gritted teeth. Kay had to cringe away from it. How frustrated and angry and sad and desolate it was. It said everything that Cameron couldn't, or didn't want to. It physically pained each and every one of them to hear.

And for a moment, on the floor of Jonathan's room with practically everything thrown around in a mess, she was tempted to cave and give into the same kinds of defeat. She was tempted to cover her face with her hands and give up on trying to hold her tears back or keep a lid on her own frustration that this was happening and she couldn't do anything about it. That her friend was hurting and it seemed like there was no ending to it.

Kay almost gave into everything.

Until she didn't.

Until she picked her head up and composed herself and took in a quick breath to shoo everything else away. Until she looked at Cameron, still bent over in Dina's arms and trying not throw up all over the floor, and her eyes narrowed. Until she withdrew and stood, reaching into her pocket and fishing around for the things she had just put away. Until she reached out her hand and waited for Cameron to finally look up at her.

And until she just gave him a crisp and almost business-like: "Come on."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was absolutely freezing. They were bundled up in coats, yet they still may as well have been blocks of ice. Maybe it wasn't the best idea in terms of  _comfort_ , but it was the best idea for what had needed to be done, and that much was more than clear just by the evidence now seated in the passenger seat. Cameron resembled Rudolph a bit, in the respect that his nose was so pink he could probably light their way even if the headlights went out. But he was a completely different person than he had been in Jonathan's room. His eyes were bright, and all the panic was completely gone from both his face and his posture. He looked content. In fact, there was the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. An actual, true smile.

Kay was driving, and the windows were rolled down. Every single window— even the sunroof. The temperature outside felt subzero, and she'd tried to counteract that by turning the heat on in the car full blast. It made the wind tolerable, or at least much less cutting. Which was good. Because even though it was so cold it burned their faces and their throats, and even though it buffeted them from side to side…it was freeing. It was perfect. It was what Cameron needed right now.

Kay glanced at him, from the corner of her eye. He was leaning on the car door, on his arm, not his side, because his ribs were in too much pain. But he was positioned so that his head could tilt against the windowpane. His eyes were closed, and that little hint of a smile was on his face as he focused on the cold air blowing against him and tossing his hair around. He was breathing regularly and deeply. He looked peaceful. He looked almost as peaceful as he had when he was sleeping, and the fact that he was so near to that when he was awake made Kay's heart tug and her eyes sting. Though she blamed that last one on the wind, as she looked back to the road.

They'd been driving around for almost an hour now, mostly in silence. The radio hadn't been put on either; the only sound that was allowed life was the wind. Kay didn't find fault in that. It was better this way— it was more soothing. Cameron needed the space to stop and have everything slow down, so she wasn't going to take that from him. She would give him whatever he needed, as long as he was bettered for it. And judging by the look on his face, she had managed that. So she wasn't about to break the silence, even to speak.

But Cameron did. Eventually, he opened his eyes. He shifted and dragged himself to sit back against the seat normally, having to fight a flinch when he did. Kay glanced at him with the change, but still said nothing. He offered to do the honors. However, that didn't mean he did so readily. He was so quiet and reluctant that it was hard to pick up what he was saying over everything else. It was the repetition of the phrase from him that helped her figure it out. "I'm sorry."

She felt like that was all he said, nowadays. And all she was saying in return was: "Don't be. It's perfectly fine, Cameron."

He blinked and twisted to study her. She wondered if he was only able to do so because she wasn't looking back at him. She almost wanted to test it, to see whether he would turn away if she did. But she didn't. "I'm sorry I…when you first came in, I— I didn't mean to sound so…" He was fumbling for the right word. She allowed him the time to do so. "I don't mean to make it seem like I…" He wasn't good at these types of things, apparently. Launch into a full-on monologue just to prove a point in a way that came across as sassy and smug? Of course. But things like this? Apparently not. Though you had to wonder if  _anyone_ would be good with this sort of situation. Chances are, the answer would be a resounding no. "Like, I don't…"

Without thinking, she glanced at him. He looked troubled and worn. That peaceful look was gone. But when her eyes flickered over to lock with his, he didn't break their stare, this time. His eyes flashed, and his shoulders seemed to tense, but he held her gaze. It was only for a moment, of course, before Kay was looking back at where they were going. But the brief heartbeat seemed to hold in itself much more than it seemed to on its surface. The expression on his face compelled her, and Kay found herself slowing down and pulling over to the side of the road. After so much wind, for such a long period of time, the newfound silence was deafening. But it would also be easier to hear, now.

She turned to see that Cameron was still staring at her with that same expression. Like he was pained, but much more so than just his physical injuries. She expected him to duck away once their stares collided again. But he stayed. He weakened, but he stayed, and he continued to do so even as the seconds ticked by. Eventually, he managed to find the explanation he thought worked best. But she almost wished he hadn't, because it hurt so much to hear. "I just don't want you to see me like this," he rasped.

She was amazed at how something verbal could cause her so much physical pain.

Now, it was her turn to try and find the right words. "Cameron…I care about you.  _So_ much more than I e _ver_ could have anticipated from that first day you practically forced yourself onto our first case." Cameron might have smiled, but the expression was too innately sad to pass. "I  _want_ to be here. To help you. I want to make sure you're okay, because if I didn't know…I'd just be wondering every second of every day." She shook her head. "I don't…look at you differently." He cringed. "I don't think about you differently, I just…think about what I can do to help. And no matter what it could be, I'm willing to do it. Because…you're my friend. I owe you that much."

He murmured in the back of his throat. "I don't think you owe me anything."

"I do," she reassured. "Besides just the help you've given me so far. You've been a good friend. You even memorized the way I like my coffee." Cameron cracked a grin at this. It was bit brighter, this time. "You even got shot for me and put your life on the line…I would be a horrible friend to leave you now. We've been through a lot together…why not go through this, together, too?" The question hung in the air between them, almost echoing. She wasn't sure, in the dark, but Kay could have sworn that when she asked this, Cameron's eyes grew glassy with tears. He said nothing, his throat too tight to. However, he did offer her another smile, which was going to have to suffice. Seeing this – having gotten three grins in a row and having this normal back-and-forth again – Kay wasn't so sure her own eyes weren't misting over.

But now it was her turn to look away. They seemed to be passing the baton. She tore her gaze from Cameron's and focused down on the steering wheel instead. Her eyebrows knitted tight with pain. "And…I still want to apologize…about Jonathan." His smile vanished, and Kay already missed it terribly. "I wish I could have done something…I wanted to help get him out, Cameron, I did…and I let you down when I couldn't do that. When I couldn't keep my promise to you. I'm so sorry." Her words were growing weaker. Even if she was given a million years to apologize, she didn't think it would begin to make up for any of it. "And…if I'd kept my part of our deal…and if I'd gotten—"

"Stop."

"If I'd found a way to—"

"No."

"I just wish—"

"Kay." He said this louder, and she turned back to him. He looked unbelievably strained. There was a haunted kind of look in his eyes that had been lingering there ever since he'd gotten home. Sometimes it was less noticeable, and other times it crawled forward like now, and it swallowed everything else up. His voice shook just the tiniest bit when he said: "Don't. It's not your fault. None of this— …you didn't do any of this.  _None_  of it is on you."

She felt her heart squeeze, as if in pain. She knew she wasn't in any. She  _wished_  she was. She wished she could take Cameron's injuries and put the burden on her instead. If she could take all of his suffering – every last ounce of it – she knew without a doubt that she would. If she could see him smile again, or hear him laugh, or say something stupid and then regret it half a second later, she would do whatever it took. To see the person Jordan had recounted, who had met a mistake that had caused a fire with a tiny 'Whoops.' She found her lips moving of their own will, and before she could stop herself she whispered: "I wish you could tell yourself that, too."

His face fell. He frowned and looked down at his hands. He said nothing.

Her heart was thudding a little too hard against her ribcage, and she found that breathing was a little harder than normal. She wasn't one to get nervous easily. However, she'd meant what she'd said to Cameron what felt like lifetimes ago— she wasn't good at being scared. And right now, she was. "But I should have…I saw Jonathan…as he was leaving." Cameron's forehead creased in discomfort. She kept going, albeit slowly. "He was packing up…I stopped him and I talked to him, I could have…if I'd realized what was actually going on, I could have stopped all of this. I just…thought he was you, I didn't even  _consider_ …"

Cameron smiled, but this grin was layered with too much bitterness to belong to him. "'Cause he's good," he exhaled, the words hardly anything but air. "And I guess that was the point."

Too much silence followed this. Kay wasn't sure what to say.

But she was already more than sure what Cameron was going to.

The fact she was dreading it, though, didn't really keep her stomach from jolting once he did. "What happened?" She aimed her stare out the window. There wasn't much to look at, though. It was difficult to blame her wandering attention on anything other than the fact she simply wasn't brave enough to look at him head-on. He kept trying, though. Something about his voice caught her. She knew he deserved the answer to the question. He'd deserved it the very first time he'd asked, she just hadn't been able to give it to him. Now, Cameron was staring at her with an expression that hinted he was already preparing himself to be disappointed with another rejection. The hope in his voice was already so deflated when he elaborated: "What happened when you saw him? What did he say to you?" He didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve any of this— she couldn't add onto all his troubles.

She closed her eyes. Part of her was tempted to turn him down yet again. To dismiss it as something that wasn't important…something that was better left forgotten. But she didn't have the heart to. "He…said that he had to leave," she began. "He didn't say why, or where he was going. I tried to convince him to stay, but…but he said he was finished with the FBI, because…we let the mystery woman go." Cameron wasn't saying a single word. He didn't dare interrupt, but the longer she spoke, the sicker he began to look. "I…" She hesitated. Nearly ten full seconds of silence stretched before she began again. "No matter what I said…he refused it. I told him…I wanted to be someone that was there for him. But…he wanted…nothing to do with me. Eventually, I told him…I told him if…he wanted to leave in some way, to do something, I wouldn't stop him. I just asked…if he would promise me I would see him again. And…he told me he didn't want any more promises."

Cameron's eyes widened just a fraction. Mostly in unimaginable anguish and disappointment.

She finished it off hollowly. "And then he left. I didn't hear from him again. The team was so upset, and when…when I heard 'Jonathan' wasn't taking visitors, I…thought I should go and apologize, and try to make it right so that— so that they didn't lose the  _both_ of you. And…I was also just…going crazy because I…thought it was  _you_ that had run off. I didn't…know where you were, or  _how_ you were. And then…all of a sudden…" She exhaled heavily and left it there.

Cameron digested the story with difficulty. He looked down at his lap again, and Kay pretended not to notice when he reached up to wipe at his eyes. He grimaced and shook his head. She gave him however long he needed to regather himself. His voice was significantly softer when he spoke again. "I…just…" he closed his eyes in a flinch, "never thought he would have…" Kay wilted at the heartache in his voice. He sighed and picked his head up to stare directly out the windshield, like he was trying to focus on something very far away. "I thought he had a plan," he rasped emptily. "I thought he was going to come back if I stayed, but…he hasn't."

The longer she sat there and had to see this – had to hear the actual injury in his voice – the more anger began to stew in the pit of her stomach. She hadn't stopped too often to let it grow. She hadn't stopped to really add fire to it. She'd been too focused on Cameron, too worried about his wellbeing. But now the force of it was squeezing her lungs. And she realized the fact that she hadn't exactly acknowledged up until now. She wasn't just  _angry_  at Jonathan for this…she was  _livid_. She was livid he'd lied to her, and to the rest of the team. She was livid he'd left Cameron there and abandoned him to escape, when apparently Cameron had already been offering that option as it was.

But that didn't even  _touch_  the pure rage she felt at the fact that he was to blame for  _this_. That he was the reason for the look that was on Cameron's face right now, and the desolation that had replaced his happiness. That he was the reason just over an hour ago, Cameron had been sitting in the middle of a mess of clothes and outturned furniture, crying because of something nobody else could recognize. The he was the reason he'd woken up in the middle of the night screaming and crying, begging for everything to stop when nothing was even happening to him. The constant showering and toothbrushing, the aversion to eating food or getting out of bed— that was all Jonathan. If it hadn't been for Jonathan, he would be his old self right now. Nothing would be wrong at all.

She was so furious it took her breath away. It hit her fully, in that moment. She wanted to scream, she wanted to hit something. She wanted to hit  _Jonathan_ , she wanted to drag him back to the FBI and lock him up in jail for as long as time would allow. She wanted to see him try and fight and dig his heels into the ground because he didn't want to go, and to see his efforts fail because Cameron hadn't wanted any of this either, and this was just justice. She wanted to see him get what he deserved. She wanted an ending. She  _still_ did. This one in particular might not be Cameron's – she had no idea what his thoughts were on Jonathan right now, and maybe he didn't either – but this was hers. This was what she wanted to see, now, and she was sure of it.

"I'm so sorry, Cameron," she murmured, knowing it wasn't enough at all. "I can't imagine what this whole thing must be like for you." She shook her head. "We'll sort everything out. I promise. One way or another…this isn't going to last forever." She paused for a long moment, hesitating. But eventually, she dared to ask: "Do you want to talk about it? About…anything?" She would listen. For hours, she would sit and listen if any type of unloading on his part would help him to feel just the tiniest bit better. She wouldn't tell a single soul, either. The team didn't have to know the details if Cameron didn't want them to.

But no. "I don't want to talk about any of it. Ever," he whispered. His voice was clenched in a way that begged her not to press. Not that she would have in the first place. "I don't even want to remember it. Much less talk about it." Kay just nodded once. Cameron didn't see it— he was still staring ahead. His voice was so soft when he went on, Kay wondered if he really meant for her to hear this next part. "My entire life…I always knew…that no matter what happens…I'd always have Jonathan. That he was the one person I never had to worry about hurting me, or…not being there for me. That I could rely on him." There was no doubt now that his eyes were watering. "Maybe…I expected too much. Maybe I trusted him so much…I didn't see anything else. I didn't see…how much he hated me."

"Cameron, you can't—"

"He left me," he pointed out hollowly. It hurt, but Kay didn't interrupt him. "He said…he didn't want to leave with  _me_. I'd disappointed him too much, I'd…messed up, maybe even before all this started— maybe from the very beginning. He left me there, and I've called him, I've…" He had to stop and swallow back the lump in his throat before he could continue. "He doesn't have a plan. Not for  _us_ , like I thought he did. He just wanted to leave. I tried not to believe it…I thought it would help. You know, a trick isn't… _fun_ unless you just…trust it— if you try to… _think_ about what's happening, it's not…the same, but this isn't…" He sighed. "If he had a plan, he would have answered. He would have been back by now. He wouldn't have told you—" He stopped himself there. He just sighed and gave up. Something he was doing a lot of, lately. "It's a mess. Everything's a mess," he exhaled.

Kay felt a renewed wave of guilt. Again, she mumbled: "I just…should have known he wasn't you…"

Cameron finally looked at her again. His eyes flashed. And in the face of his next quiet confession, Kay wasn't too sure she knew what to say. Or even think. "It doesn't mean anything…but…I wouldn't have done that. I wouldn't have…turned you away."

Nobody said anything after this. They held one another's gaze, and that was it. Kay's mouth was dry; her stomach was in knots. Eventually Cameron seemed to realize something, because he shook himself and turned back front. "Not that it matters," he declared, his voice stiffer.

Kay tried to say something. She was coming up empty.

But something about Cameron's expression warned her she shouldn't try anything at all.

Eventually, after ages, she looked away. And turned the key to start the engine again.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was up when she came over next. He was sitting in the kitchen, across from Jordan and Gunter. Dina had been the one to let Kay in, but once she did, she went back over to the stove. Whatever kind of dinner she was making, it smelled wonderful. But what was much more wonderful was just the sight of Cameron. Immediately, Kay was fighting a smile. He was wearing a long-sleeved shirt, most likely to hide the gauze on his arm. But he looked significantly healthier today— there was more color to his cheeks, and it looked like he'd put in the effort to fix his hair, too, which wasn't damp for once. A hot cup of tea was sitting by him, and he was holding a deck of cards. It looked like he was trying to shuffle them and flip them like he usually did when he was bored. With his bad hand, he couldn't manage it. But he only looked mildly inconvenienced.

The smile that Dina had given her on the way in had said it all: today was a better day. Maybe the best so far.

When she came in, he looked up and offered her a tiny smile, just like Jordan did. Gunter glanced at her but didn't follow suit. At the very least, he didn't glare at her, or say anything snide. It was a small victory. She took the seat beside Cameron, and he didn't object to it. Jordan flashed her a grin and leaned forward more so he was resting on his elbows. "You're here early," he noted. "Is the FBI  _really_ that boring without us there?"

She laughed. "I  _will_ say that it's definitely not as entertaining." She hesitated, before she turned to Cameron and flashed him a teasing look. "It's much  _quieter_ , though." He perked and looked at her with a bit of surprise. She only smirked. A tiny smile began to tug at the edge of his lips in return. "I'm just saying, I take less Ibuprofen than I do when you're there, so feel free to take all the time you need." She was plainly aware of both Gunter and Dina staring her down; so far, it had been an unspoken agreement to treat Cameron like he was made of glass. To tiptoe around him with absolutely everything, including conversation. This was the most 'normal' thing she'd said to him so far.

And she was caught off-guard at the rush of happiness she got when Cameron cracked even more of a smile, even though he turned back down to his cards as if to try and hide it. "You're their biggest customer, though," he flashed back. His voice was still softer than normal and strained like he had to make a specific effort to get it out in the first place. But it was slowly getting back to normal. Judging by the look on his face just now, she desperately wished that meant the rest of him was catching up, too. "Now they're going out of business."

Kay laughed again, smiling from ear-to-ear. Gunter was watching the both of them with a guarded expression. She decided to ignore him, though. And focus on this: a day that, should she try hard enough, she might be able to fool herself into thinking was back before all of this started. A day that was completely normal, and she was only here to enjoy the company of everyone else.

And she did. It was nice. Dina had made the best meatloaf Kay had ever had. With mashed potatoes and gravy and green beans, they all sat together at the table and talked throughout dinner. During which, Kay would glance at Cameron out of the corner of her eye and practically swell with relief whenever she saw him actually take a bite of food. By the end, he'd eaten just a little bit over half of the meal, which was a huge success in her book. He didn't talk as much as he would have before, but he did contribute to the conversation whenever he was required to. And even when the plates were cleared, they all stayed sitting together, talking as the hours slipped by.

"I think it would be nice to get away," Dina was saying with a wistful smile on her face. "We always had so much fun on the road…when you two weren't threatening to kill each other," she added, looking pointedly between Gunter and Jordan, neither of who objected. "And it would be nice to go out on a vacation; when was the last time we did that!? Gone out just for fun! We could find someplace, I'm sure. A theme park, a resort— we could even go camping!" She was just naming everything she possibly could.

Jordan was quick to shake his head. "No. Nope— no nature. I vote 'no' on the camping."

"Everyone loves camping," Gunter objected. "You're miles away from  _any other_  person, with nothing but peace and quiet; how is that in any way at all not the best thing you've ever heard of?"

"I hate nature, and nature hates me back!" Jordan exclaimed. "Like— this one time, I was driving down this road out in the middle of nowhere, and in the span of four hours, I hit two deer! They just—  _wham_! Right in front of my car, and I couldn't  _stop_ because they both came out so fast! I had no choice but to just…hit them! It ruined my car!"

"You killed two deer in four hours?" Kay demanded. "Why didn't you slow down after you hit the first one?"

"I had places to go!" Jordan blustered. "And it's not an  _uncommon_ amount of deer to hit!"

"It's actually a very high number; there shouldn't have even been one," Kay remarked.

Cameron suddenly looked up from his cards, his eyes glowing like neon signs. Kay's own widened as he turned to look at Jordan, a much-too excited beam spreading over his face. His voice was practically oozing happiness and pride as he softly declared: "You're a  _deer_ ial killer."

A brief second silence followed the unexpected joke— a stunned and winded kind of silence. Dina's expression was smacked with shock, and when she stared at his wide grin, Kay was certain her eyes started to water. Jordan just stared at him stupidly, and Gunter was just as unresponsive. Kay felt the same way, but she shoved herself over the hurdle as fast as she could once she realized nobody else was going to. This entire time, they had been missing and waiting for exactly this: this smile, this barely-concealed laughter. Now that it was here, they couldn't scare it away, no matter how surprising it was. Though she felt almost dizzy with relief, her response came reflexively, on instinct. "That was just bad, Cameron, I'm disappointed."

Dina stiffened.

But Cameron's reaction was exactly as Kay had hoped. " _What_!?" he squeaked, which, admittedly, made her giggle. "That was a  _good_  one."

"No, it was very bad, I give it a negative two out of ten," Jordan chimed in, Kay flashing him a relieved look once he caught up with her.

"Whenever I start to think you can't get on my nerves any more, you always find a way to prove me wrong," Gunter said.

With their additions, Cameron's smile stayed, and might have even grown. He laughed softly when he looked back at his cards. Kay's eyes caught on Dina and she realized the other was fixing her with a look she hadn't expected. One of extreme gratitude, and happiness. She was practically radiating the both of them. And once Kay looked up to meet her gaze, her friend mouthed a silent 'Thank you.' She wasn't sure what to do with it. She didn't really see how she deserved it.

All the same, she smiled back.

At this point, it was hard to keep one off her face anyway.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Work was getting harder to drag herself through. Every day, coming up with nothing on Jonathan's location got more and more frustrating. She wasn't as able to handle it as well the more it mounted. By now it was taking its toll on her. It was taking its toll on everyone. But more than that, she just missed Cameron. She missed him bursting into her office already somehow in the middle of a sentence even though he should know she had no idea what he was going on about. She missed him jumping into conversations with pointless and unneeded jokes or comments. She missed him piecing apart every aspect of a crime, explaining the details she had missed and why they were there. She missed him concocting some elaborate trick to close in on the person that always seemed to work out in the end.

She just missed every part of him. She never realized how much she'd gotten used to having him around at work until she was suddenly just…alone again. Or, not alone, of course, but…sometimes she certainly felt like it.  _More_ alone, maybe, was the better word. In comparison, it was lonelier. So with those combined aspects, going into work every day, she felt like a heavy weight was being thrust onto her shoulders the moment she crossed the threshold.

But the moment work ended and she was allowed to leave, she was rushing back to the Archive, and once she walked over  _that_ threshold, the burden was lifted. She felt lighter, and especially on the good days where Cameron was faring better, seeing him again took away the aching loneliness that had followed her so irrationally the entire day. Sometimes he wouldn't be as good. He would be in bed, with the covers pulled up over him and he would refuse to say much of anything— then, he just preferred to listen to her talk about something irrelevant, if he tolerated her being there at all. She always hoped on those days he would end up sleeping, because he desperately needed it, but it was never the case. The bags under his eyes seemed permeant, even on the days he was out with the others.

He could walk and sit up for longer periods of time now, and it didn't take as much out of him. His voice was almost back to normal, and the bruising around his neck was beginning to fade from dark purple to light blue ones. Soon they would turn yellow and be even harder to see. The ones on his face were clearing up in a similar manner, and when he had headaches they weren't nearly as bad as they were when he'd first gotten back. He still wasn't eating very much. He was still quiet. Still not himself. Still on-edge, and recovering, but at least he  _was_ recovering. It was slow, and they all knew it would be. They were prepared to adjust to his pace.

When she came into the Archive, she could tell it was an okay night. You could feel it in the air if it was a really bad one— whether or not there was tension or pain or worry, or whether everything was fine for now. The atmosphere wasn't that bad, tonight. Sure enough, Cameron was out sitting on the couch with a blanket draped over him, messing with his cards. It was like he thought that if he ignored his broken hand enough, he could eventually make the injury obsolete. As she walked inside – by this point she could just let herself in – his eyes flickered up from the deck briefly to her, and he smiled. It was lackluster.

She started to say something, but he beat her to the punch. He looked back down at the deck and shuffled it awkwardly. "Knew you'd come around," he sighed, and maybe she was just experienced enough by this point, but she immediately picked up on the hollow ring his words had. She connected it with the look on his face. Off-put, and uncomfortable.

She knew what he was talking about, but decided to ask anyway: "What do you mean?"

Cameron gave a loose sigh. "I  _mean_ …they should be paying you ten dollars an hour." There was only the slightest hint of bitterness in his voice. But it was a bitterness that came more out of self-consciousness than actual anger. She couldn't blame him. "Jordan's got that reunion, Gunter's gotta go meet up with some friend who got into town and wouldn't stop calling him, Dina's got a date with Mike…" He looked up at her again only to give her a smile that was much less sincere this time. "Can't leave me alone  _here_ ," he chirped, still with that sad little ring. "I'd burn down the house if they did." He went back down to his cards and added a little sassily under his breath: "…I still might, so I'm just warning you."

This last part was enough to reassure her that he was still alright. She'd been starting to fear that tonight was a bad idea – the team had been cooped up here for so long, she was more than glad to…for lack of a better word, take the 'shift' of being with him – until that flash of himself came back. "Cameron, you know I would have come anyway," she pointed out.

"I'm just saying, you don't have to stay here all night," Cameron pressed. This came out sounding more injured. Her smile faded when she realized how he must feel— like a kid being swapped between parents. The discomfort on his face was getting palpable. "I'm fine to be by myself…you don't need to come over here and  _watch_  me."

"I missed you." It fell out before she could stop it. And the way it  _did_ come out sounded…entirely unlike herself. Too earnest, and genuine, and soft. It surprised even her, but Cameron immediately looked up with an identical expression. She pressed her lips together, feeling a distinct rush of embarrassment and horror. She didn't elaborate, and Cameron sure as heck wasn't about to say anything either, so the two ended up just looking at each other awkwardly, both just as lost on what to say. The tiniest creak of a floorboard would have made a sound equivalent to a bomb going off. Eventually, Kay managed to spit something out. However, it wasn't her best moment. "You look awful."

Cameron did a double-take. He looked down at himself, and then back at her, dumbfounded. She was about to rush and apologize – when she was flustered she tended to ramble and say the stupidest things, and Cameron knew that firsthand from the whole Isaac situation – when his face broke out into a grin and he actually laughed. He snickered for a few seconds, and the simple sound brought a large grin to Kay's face. " _Wow_ , uh— it took  _effort_ to look like this," he objected, and she laughed even more. "I thought I looked pretty darn handsome."

"If that's your taste," Kay replied. "But it's not really my type."

He chuckled a little bit under his breath. When he looked at her again, his expression was noticeably softer…or maybe that was just her wishful thinking. Because as soon as they locked eyes again, Dina and Gunter were coming back into the room. Dina was dressed up to the nines, and along with her beautiful dress, she was wearing an anxious smile. Tonight would be her and Mike's first time going out together after the whole badge fiasco. She'd been hesitant to leave in the first place, because of Cameron, but Kay had encouraged her over and over to go. Now, she seemed excited. Gunter, on the other hand, was not as much so. There wasn't a doubt in Kay's mind he would rather stay here with Cameron. And the desire was probably tripled due the fact that Kay would be the one here with him.

But what's done was done. The night had already been arranged. However, it didn't stop Gunter from looking at her a bit too long on his way out, and pointedly proclaiming to Cameron: "I shouldn't be long. I'm not one for the nightlife, anyway." To which Cameron had, not even looking up from his cards, mumbled out a monotone: "Well just know I'll miss you  _so_  much." Gunter had hesitated and looked at her again, and she had just stared right back at him. He'd had no choice but to just leave. Dina had lingered with the two of them for while until Mike had knocked on the door to pick her up. Which led to a rather awkward encounter, given the fact that the last time Mike had seen Cameron was when he'd woken up from a nightmare screaming.

To Cameron's credit, he played it off well. "Lookin' sharp," he drawled.

Mike grinned, looking ecstatic just being able to see Cameron out and actually lucid. Cameron tried not to notice it too much. "Thanks. How are— how are you doing? Kay's said that you've…been doing better, recently. We were all glad to hear."

His smile was pinched. "Well…I came in second in the marathon today, but other than that I'm doing fantastic." Kay glanced off to the side to hide her smile. She had a feeling Cameron picked up on it anyway. "Have fun tonight," he wished, very obviously trying to get the attention off of himself. He looked over at Dina specifically, and added a more affectionate and almost apologetic: "You deserve it."

At the sentiment, he melted and let go of Mike's hand to rush back over to the couch. Before Cameron could stop her, she leaned down and planted a kiss on his forehead. He grinned, embarrassed as she pulled away with a sweet smile. "I'll be back tomorrow, darling," she promised, and he just nodded. As she turned and met up with Mike again, and the two made their way out the door, the look on his face was a mix between happy and sad. Soft, but injured at the same time. He looked back down at his cards once the door shut. Kay was starting to believe he was looking at them now, instead of looking at possibly upsetting things, or dwelling on upsetting thoughts. He did it quite a lot.

It was a better coping mechanism than alcohol.

This left them alone; Jordan had already left for his reunion a while ago, and now the house seemed empty. Much too big for just two people. She took a seat on the opposite end of the couch and picked up the remote to search for something to watch on TV they would both like. Hoping it would break the sudden tension that had been conjured out of nowhere.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _You_ were Homecoming Queen?" Cameron demanded. Kay smiled and nodded, and he immediately shook his head. "I don't believe it, did you— did they give you like a crown? Please tell me they gave you a _scepter_? It's not even worth it if you didn't get a scepter."

"I was given a  _tiara_ ," she corrected. "And no— why would you need a scepter? What would I have done with it for the rest of the night?"

"You'd  _hit_  people with it," Cameron replied, like the answer should have been obvious.

Kay laughed, shaking her head. They'd agreed on a movie over an hour ago, but by now neither of them really knew what was going on in it, or really cared enough to track down its plot. They'd been talking instead, back and forth for ages and never stopping. Of course, Cameron was more listening than he was telling stories. But he was smiling, and every so often he would give a tiny laugh, or a comment where appropriate. The time was flying, and Kay found that this was the happiest she'd felt since she had gotten Cameron out of jail. And maybe it too ambitious to consider, but she was almost certain this was the happiest she'd seen Cameron since, too.

"I think I would have gotten kicked out if I did that," Kay giggled.

"Hm. Jokes on them, they already made you queen— you can't kick out the  _queen_."

She stifled another laugh and looked at her watch. It was nearly eleven. It was hard to judge whether or not Cameron was wanting to go to bed— he always looked exhausted, because he refused to sleep. But he was still fidgeting with his cards and he looked content enough, underneath those dark bags, so she figured it was fine. "Are you hungry?" she asked instead. Another thing he wasn't doing enough of. She noticed him perk a little at the mention. "We could probably find something to make…or we could go out somewhere and get something that way." She hesitated before she added temptingly: "I can make really good milkshakes."

He smirked. "Okay, calm down  _Martha Stewart_ , milkshakes are the easiest things to make," he rasped. He needed a drink of water— his throat was sounding much worse after all this talking. Opting to ignore this, he went on. "You just put ice cream and milk into a blender and wait five seconds. That doesn't warrant bragging rights."

"Do you want one, or  _no_?"

He glanced towards the kitchen. After a second, his eyes flashed and he looked back down at his cards. "No, I'm okay," he mumbled. "…Thanks, though." She frowned, but he didn't look up to her and see this. A few moments passed in silence, which felt much more uncomfortable after they'd been going on together for so long. She started to open her mouth to ask him something, when he stopped her prematurely. He shifted closer to her and sighed, putting out his arms and splaying out the deck. "Pick a card," he chirped. She looked at him in faint surprise. He smiled again. "Pick a card," he repeated. "Any card in the stack."

Kay smirked. She grinned and shifted so she was facing him fully, and she tucked her legs underneath her. She made a show of contemplating her choice, to which Cameron eyed her indulgently until she finally plucked one out. "Okay, look at it, but don't let me see. And remember it," Cameron encouraged. She did: the three of hearts. He folded the deck back together and held it out for her. "Place it on top." Once she did, he shuffled the deck, getting it lost. Then he looked through it, with a bit of difficulty considering he couldn't do much with his fractured hand. He could do a little, but the reach was still awkward. And he scanned for her card.

Eventually he put them all back together and shuffled it again, before he looked at her almost smugly. It made her smile even more. "Alright, so I'm just going to go ahead and make your card invisible— it's at the top right here, so I'm going to hand it back to you to hold." He lifted up an imaginary card and held it out to her. She humored him and took it. "Don't drop it— it'll take us forever to find it. And the floor's probably  _covered_  with other ones, so we won't even be able to tell if it's really yours," he mumbled. He talked over her resounding giggle. "Okay. Pick a number. One through fifty-two, I'll be able to pull up your card."

She considered it. Before she declared: "Thirty-four."

He looked at her with a 'Really?' kind of look that made her beam, before he shook his head. "Fine. You  _continue_  to make my life difficult." He cleared his throat and began to dole out cards into a stack on the couch between them, counting each one. "One, two, three, four…" Once he drew the thirty-fourth card, he flipped it around and raised his eyebrows. "Is this your card?" he prompted.

She wilted. It was the ace of spades. Her answer came slowly. "…No."

" _Yeah_ , that's because you're still  _holding_ it, Kay, it's still  _invisible_ , keep up with me please," he flashed back immediately. She straightened, looking down to see she was still pretending to hold a card that wasn't there. The amount of relief she felt was almost stupid. Cameron put the ace of spades back on the deck and tapped the top. "So go ahead and put your card right there, then, so it's in the thirty-fourth spot instead." She eyed him but did as he requested. From there, he scooped all the other cards up and put the deck back together. She watched him count them out again, faster this time. "Thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three…and card number thirty-four." He lifted it up from the deck and flipped it around to display the three of hearts.

Her eyes widened; she looked from him to the card in bemusement. "How did you do that?" she demanded. "How did you slip it in front of the ace?"

He leaned back into the couch with a tiny grimace and a pinched exhale. But when he looked at her, he was grinning widely, and there was a light in his eyes that she hadn't seen for quite some time. And a lightness to his voice as well, when he offered her a teasing: " _Magic_."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron hit the ground hard. He'd lost count of how many times he had already, but the slam was more than familiar to him by this point. Though the fact that he knew it well didn't take away any of the pain that the shove inflicted. And once he hit the ground, he went limp. He couldn't move. He wanted to – the thought was there, it was practically screaming and begging to become actual reality – but for the moment his brain and his body were entirely disconnected. He was just trying to breathe— to get air down into his lungs, in the hopes it would take away at least a fraction of their burning, or make the room stop spinning so much. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears, fast and panicked, like it was trying to claw its way out of him so at least  _it_  had a chance of getting away.

But he could hear the laughter, more. Filling up the room and bouncing off the walls to turn around and slam right back into him. It permeated the entire space, taking up everything, and it might as well. Because he couldn't tell anything else for sure. He couldn't tell which way was up, or down, or left, or right. He couldn't tell how long it had been, he couldn't even tell how he was laying. If it was on his side, or his back, or on his stomach. He could only be sure of the laughter. And the pain. And the panic. Those three things were what he had.

He'd be the very first one to admit this wasn't much to work with.

"Get up. You're not even close to done."

He didn't know who said it. By this point, it didn't matter. He still couldn't move.

Something leaked out of his mouth and down the side of his face. He hoped it was blood.

He felt hands on him, felt them start to pick him up instead, and he tried to scrape together as much energy as he possibly could— anything at all that was left. He gritted his teeth and ignored the agony it caused as he grabbed the nearest arm and twisted his entire body as hard as he could. He couldn't hear the pop he was looking for – his heart was still too loud – but he was dropped immediately, and he hoped that meant he'd dislocated the shoulder like he'd wanted. This time when he hit the ground he started to try and scramble up. Someone punched him hard in the stomach, though, and he crashed down again with a heavy sob. He was wrenched onto his back by someone else, but the second he was flattened the ground like this, Cameron forced the arm that  _wasn't_  gushing blood into motion to rear back and snap a punch directly to the person's face. They reared back, and Cameron kicked out hard at the blur that was standing in front of him, to hopefully catch their ankles.

And then his side ripped in pain as someone landed a hefty kick to it. Cameron barely had time to yelp before someone took the other side, and the two proceeded to rain kick after kick to his ribs. He couldn't even inhale enough to scream; he could only choke on the torture and wait for it to be over. He was even more disoriented than he was before, once it did. He was paralyzed from the pain, struggling to take in the tiniest breath.

"He keeps fighting," someone said. The voice registered to Cameron as murky and muffled…about two miles away. He couldn't even be sure if that was what they even said.

Someone – but he knew _this_ one – moved to crouch over him and shove a knee down hard against his chest to keep him there. Cameron choked at the hard contact as he dragged his head back front, rather than letting it drop to the side. His vision was ruined, though, even when he opened his eyes. It was warped and smeared and it didn't make any sense at all. Maybe it was because he'd hit his head so much. Maybe it was because he was crying. Decker's voice was just as odd-sounding and far away, even though he was  _right there_. "Good. It's more fun when they do." He snickered when Cameron failed to shoot him as harsh a glare as he wanted. He bent down low, and Cameron cringed as he tried to get away however he could, pointlessly so. "Come on, magician…why can't you escape?"

He squeezed his eyes shut when they burned. Decker grabbed his chin and started to wrench his head so it was facing front again, and it was only because he was so angry that Cameron got the strength to do anything at all. But he reached up, forcing himself to use his bleeding arm too as he lashed out blindly, as hard as he could. He struggled to do even the smallest bit of damage. Decker muttered a curse when a couple swings landed, and hands started grabbing at Cameron's arms to yank them back and pin them to the ground. Someone else grabbed his legs to do the same. Before he could try and start pulling against them, though, hands suddenly wrapped around his neck.

His eyes flew wide as he started to choke and splutter. He couldn't breathe before, but now his air supply was cut off entirely. His panic only grew the longer Decker refused to let up. The other just watched, more than satisfied. He said something, but Cameron couldn't hear. His vision was fuzzing over with black the longer he couldn't breathe. His arms were let go, but all he did was reach up and try to claw the hands off his throat. His efforts were weak and feeble— barely-there. After another handful of seconds, they were already faltering and dropping to the ground against his will.

Right before he could lose consciousness, the pressure was released, and Cameron could gasp, the air hurting like nails on its way down. He coughed and heaved, his mind reeling away for a moment. It only came back to him once he felt himself being moved again— onto his side. And at once, he started to try and shove himself back to how he was, not knowing why he was being shifted in the first place but knowing for certain he had to try and do whatever he could to do the opposite.

The very instant he started, though, the hands were back to latch around his windpipe. He gagged, reaching up with one hand to try and peel them away and attempting to lash out with the other one— though it just passed through empty air. His energy was draining fast, and his head was getting fuzzier, now. Someone yanked his arm back, and stomped on his hand hard, like they had before. Cameron's wail of pain was silent; he couldn't even draw in the air to do so. The agony was just on his face, and in the sharp arch of his back. A few moments after the pain blinded him, he was allowed to breathe again, and he was so dizzy and disoriented, he almost didn't hear Decker. "Don't break it yet. He'll need it."

Groggier, he tried to shake himself into awareness when he looked back. "Stop," he forced out, his voice hitching on his throat. And before he could stop himself, his expression fractured, and his next words came out much more pathetic. "Please stop, I'm n—  _no please stop, stop, please, I'm_ —" He escalated to terrified yelling as soon as he felt himself being moved again, but hands were back around his throat and he couldn't keep going, as even more force was applied this time. He gasped and retched, his consciousness actually falling away entirely this time, and much quicker than he anticipated. He was only unconscious for a short while…maybe ten seconds. And the moment he came back to and started to try and pull his arms close up to his chest, the pressure wrapped back into place, to keep him subdued.

Over and over, relentlessly, the second he came back to himself, his air would be cut off again until he wasn't able to fight. Until all his energy was drained and he couldn't even reach up to try and tear the hands off of him. Until he was barely conscious, and his only method of defense was reduced down to almost inaudible begs that would die on his tongue when the hands ultimately came back. He wasn't able to fight anything. To prevent anything. He was half dead.

He couldn't do anything. Because he just couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe— he couldn't breathe, he couldn't fight, he was stuck, he wanted to go home. He wanted to be home, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to see his friends again, he wanted to breathe, he wanted Jonathan to come back and tell him everything was fixed, he wanted to breathe, he wanted this to stop, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to die, he wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe he wanted to breathe hewantedtobreathehewantedtobreathehewantedtobreathe—

"Cameron!?"

His eyes snapped open. His entire body was locked tight in panic; his heart was pounding hard against his chest. For a moment, he was much too confused and horrified to make sense of anything at all. To separate his dream from reality. All he felt was pure panic and terror, that was only multiplied when he felt the familiar pressure locked around his neck, cutting off his airway. There were hands around his throat. He was being choked. He was back in the prison— in the supply closet, he was back and he was stuck, and he couldn't get out, and— "Cameron, Cameron,  _stop_ , Cameron!"

He blinked rapidly, his eyes finally focusing enough to realize that someone was in front of him. Mere inches away. It wasn't Decker— it was Kay. Her eyes were huge and terrified, and she was reaching out towards him, pulling desperately. "Cameron, you're hurting yourself, wake up!" she pleaded. She worked her fingers underneath his, and peeled his hands off of his own throat, having to fight in order to do so. The instant she managed this, Cameron was gasping, color slowly returning to his face. He still looked stricken and wild. For a moment he couldn't piece together anything; he could only stare straight ahead, shocked and frightened into numbness. He just fought to catch his breath. Kay was watching him, her own breathing elevated in fear. "Cameron?" she murmured eventually. He didn't even blink. "Cameron, it was just a dream. You're here, you're _home_." They were still on the couch. Had they both fallen asleep like that?

He was unresponsive. Catatonic, as it sunk in.

Kay looked beyond pained. "You're not there anymore, you're  _here_ ," she insisted.

Another gasp in fractured and caved on itself. Cameron's expression crumbled and maybe it was just because of the nightmare or maybe it was because he was so tired still, but he didn't even have a second thought about crying. It just happened. He ducked his head and shut his eyes tightly, hating that he saw everything again when he did, like it was movie to play over and over again on the back of his eyelids. Now that he got the ability to breathe back, he was starting to use it too much— to gasp fast and shallow, which wasn't what was needed to get his head to stop spinning. And the instant he started to fall into this trap, Kay was struggling to stop it.

"Cameron…Cameron, shh— look at me, Cameron." He didn't. He couldn't. By now, she was crying too, just silently. She was managing to hold herself together for the time being, which was a luxury Cameron couldn't afford anymore. She inched closer, and, without even really thinking about it, she reached out to hold his face in her hands, like she had so many times before. He still cried, still hyperventilated. But he didn't pull away. "Cameron, slow down," she soothed. "Slow down— breathe…you can breathe, you're perfectly fine. You're perfectly safe. I promise you, I wouldn't let anything hurt you." His sobs began to slowly subside. Bit by slow bit. "Breathe," she continued to encourage, her voice never betraying its gentleness. "Breathe with me, Cameron, breathe how I am. You have to breathe slower."

Cameron tried to push everything out of his mind except for her. If he was trying not to fall, Kay was the only thing he could hold onto, and he was desperately trying to keep ahold of her hand so he wouldn't plunge downward. But she was holding onto him just as hard as he was to her. And she was trying everything in her power to tug back and get him on solid ground with her. She forced herself to regularize her breathing, taking in slow and even ones. At first, he couldn't follow. He stuttered too much, or his inhales would hitch and break into sobs. But eventually he started to get into sync with her. Eventually their breathing began to line up more.

Kay didn't take her hands away. The moment she realized she was still holding him and started to wonder whether or not he actually wanted her to, Cameron reached up with his unfractured hand to hold fast to her wrist. His eyes were still closed, and he still shook. But he wanted something real. Something tangible, to feel and know that it was actually in front of him. He needed something to root him here, so he wouldn't get dragged back  _there_. So without thinking, he held to her. She didn't comment on it. She just softened sorrowfully, starting to run her thumbs along his cheeks, darkened with bruises that she was feather-light with. "You're okay, Cameron," she whispered eventually. And this got him to actually blink his eyes open again. They were filled with tears, but she was sure hers were too. "You're safe," she pledged. "You're okay."

He stared at her, his expression completely ruined, like so many things were, now. She just kept soothing him, knowing that that look didn't belong on his face. Wishing and praying that she could take it off in some way.  _Any_  way. "Just breathe with me," she repeated. By now, their breaths were near identical, mingling together in the few sparse inches that existed between them. And their stares were unwavering. Not darting away anymore or flickering with emotions or topics that would rather go unsaid. After being woken up by Cameron's yelling and choking, the silence that now permeated the entire house was earsplitting. "You're alright," she whispered again, just to try and break it. Cameron held just the smallest bit tighter to her. "You're safe…"

"I'm…I'm sorry, I—"

"Don't apologize. It's okay."

His expression weakened. His lips trembled. He hadn't breathed a word about it. To anyone. Not consciously. He hadn't wanted to. But now it was suddenly clamoring to get out, for no reason at all. Sitting there in the dark, struggling to follow Kay's lead with something as simple as breathing, tears welled faster in his eyes with the desire to spill everything. To lean into her and sob everything out. Maybe it would make him feel better. Maybe it would help. Maybe it would take away this suffocating feeling, this lonely isolation, this feeling that nothing he could  _ever_ do would make it irrelevant, and this was what he was now.

It wanted to get out— it almost did. He felt it build like vomit.

But he couldn't do it. At the last second, he just cringed deeply and choked it all back. All he could bring himself to get out was a tiny croak. One that was weak and shaking and choked thick with sorrow. "It was horrible," he sobbed. Kay had to fight not to flinch as he cried. As his shoulders shook. "It was horrible, Kay, it was— …and I couldn't—"

"Shh. I know, Cameron, I know." Her own voice was thick, but once again she was fighting to be the more stable person. The rock that Cameron could hang onto. "I know, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Cameron…" His breathing was still ragged, his throat was still aching. He still held to Kay's arm, and as he tried to stop falling apart, he leaned closer to her, to try and reassure himself she was actually there. That this wasn't a dream, too. But no— his forehead touched hers, and when he stayed there, he could feel her warmth.

Her touch was gentle. Every so often, when she did speak, it was nothing but comforts. She smelled like cinnamon— she was wearing the perfume that she had bought a month ago. That Cameron had been there for, though he'd been moping in the corner of the store just waiting to leave. He'd been whining it was taking her so long to  _just_   _pick one already,_ and  _what does it_ matter _, why is this the equivalent of buying a new car, it's just perfume._ Now, he was trying his best to focus on it. On her being there, and the way she was breathing so he could get back to himself.

His sobs slowly began to decay. His lungs started to work again, properly this time. Kay had fallen silent, and the only sound that existed was their identical inhales and exhales. Cameron blinked a couple times, realizing their foreheads were still pressed together— that Kay hadn't pushed him off her like she probably deserved. He inched backwards slowly, like he wasn't sure at all how to move away. He only leaned back enough to look at her. Her expression was unbelievably soft, and unbelievably pained at the same time. Her eyes deep pools of regret.

The silence stayed. Just like Cameron stayed holding onto her, and she to him.

"Are you okay?" she murmured, searching his face.

"I…" Cameron's voice was hardly anything. His fingers curled just the slightest bit more around her wrist. Cinnamon was all he could smell now. Somehow, their foreheads were back together, their noses beginning to brush. She was so close he could hear her heartbeat. Or was it his? He couldn't move— he was rooted in place. Still, he tried to formulate words. "I…" Her hands were warm.  _She_ was warm…everything about her was warm. "I…" Each attempt was quieter and quieter, until it came to this one, which was nothing more than a whisper. A rasp that hardly managed to get out of his abused throat in the first place.

Whatever he was trying to say never came to be. He was silenced when Kay closed the tiny millimeter of space that existed between them, to press her lips against his. It was soft and cautious, just like everything else she did was. At once, his mind went completely blank in shock. He didn't move or react at all. The kiss only lasted for a brief couple of seconds, before she pulled back, to allow him the chance to turn her away. His expression was completely stunned and conflicted. But Kay's eyes were still closed, like she didn't want to see what would be waiting as a result of the rash decision.

His mind still refused to work, or kick into actual gear. He was stuck in a limbo of panic and confusion. After a long pause, though, his free arm inched upwards, his hand trembling as he moved to hold to the side of her face. To, a little awkwardly because of the brace he was wearing, tuck her hair behind her ear. The simple action made her smile— it was a beam that seemed to light up the entire room just as well as any lamp could. And she inched back in again, this time staying. His heart was practically slamming against his chest, and his hands only shook harder as the kiss deepened.

But he focused on her perfume. Her gentle touch, her warmth, the things that made her innately  _Kay_ and could never be confused. His lips moved with hers, in an even give and take. She shifted even closer and her hands moved away from his face, one going up to thread through his hair, and the other resting down against his chest, over his racing heart. The tiniest grimace flickered over his expression when she did, but he managed to lose it as he moved to cup the other side of her face. As he thought of how he'd sacrificed himself for her with Isaac, how she'd always been able to make him smile, of how he'd felt on all their cases. As he tried to remember what this actually was.

For the time being, their breathing still matched: tiny gasps and heavy exhales with every separation, before they came back to each other. Kay pulled herself even closer, and her fingers curled down subtly into his shirt. He grimaced again. This time it lasted longer. This time, he couldn't shake it as much. Something in his brain had finally woken up, but it was doing all the wrong things. It was pulling alarms, shoving white-hot panic into his bloodstream, doing everything it could to get him to stop,  _stop, please stop, no please stop, stop, please—_ His gasps began to puncture and hitch; his movements began to stutter. His skin was crawling, his heart was picking up even more, he couldn't breathe anymore. He couldn't breathe— he couldn't— he wanted to breathe, he wanted to breathe he wanted to— He tried to figure out how to get away. How to duck down and curl out of her grasp. He took his hands back— let go of her. Waited for her to do the same. Was practically  _begging_ her mentally to do the same.

But she was only leaning closer, only pressing more against him, only making it worse, it was worse, this was worse, this was bad, it was—

He broke. It was building too much, it was crushing him, he couldn't think, he just acted, and when he did he lashed out and shoved her off. Her eyes snapped open when he did, and they flew wide with alarm. But it was nothing compared to the alarm that was on Cameron's face. He pushed her away and immediately scampered backwards, his back hitting the arm of the couch so hard he almost flipped backwards over it. His eyes were huge, his pupils blown wide with fear. He was shaking from head to toe, and the moment Kay saw him, her intelligence flooded back to her. And now, all the horror.

"Oh my God, Cameron— Cameron, I'm so sorry!" she gasped. She rushed forward, as if to reach out and help him. The second she tried, though, his arms snapped up in a sharp flinch. Like he was trying to protect himself. The motion was sharp and without any thought at all, but it caused Kay to stop immediately. Her eyes were quick to blur back over with tears. The amount of guilt at seeing Cameron this way because of her was enough to take her breath away. "Cameron, I— I shouldn't have done that, I'm so sorry, I'm  _so_ sorry!" He was gasping; the sound of it brought physical pain to rip through her chest. "That was so stupid of me, I'm so sorry, I— are you oka—?"

"I'm sorry, you—" It sounded like Cameron was two seconds from vomiting.

"Cameron, I shouldn't have pushed, I should have known enough not to—"

He was crying. "No, it's— I just—"

"I understand— Cameron, you don't have to say anything at all, I—"

"I can't— stay here, I'm—" He started to shove himself up to his feet. He staggered, his head spinning from the sharp movement and the lack of oxygen. Combined, he was woozy, and his panic wasn't helping.

Kay's lower lip trembled. She started to reach out to grab his wrist, when she stopped herself halfway, realizing that would make him even more upset. "Cameron,  _please_ —" she begged. "It's not your fault, it's—"

"It's fine I'm sorry I just need to be alone. Leave me alone," he pleaded thickly.

She sat back on the couch, watching as Cameron practically ran out of the room, back towards Jonathan's. She didn't move. She just listened to the door slam shut and echo down the hall. And still, she didn't move. She just sat there in the dark, staring after him miserably, his terrified expression as he'd looked at her already beginning to burn itself permanently into her mind. She ducked her head and held it in her hands, cringing and starting to cry. Choking just like Cameron had, but in her case, she was just choking on her own disappointment. That she could have done something as stupid as that. That she had not only ruined what had been a perfect night for him and possibly the gradual upturn he'd been having, but that she also could have ruined…

Well… _everything_.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn't visit for a long time. Or…it was more like a few days. But it certainly felt longer. She didn't answer Dina's texts, either. When Gunter had gotten home not even more than an hour after the incident that night, Kay had left immediately, not even looking at him because she hadn't been able to. When Dina texted her the next morning asking what happened, she had just drowned in guilt because she knew it was because Cameron was doing bad again, and it was because of her.

She had been so stupid. Just  _so_  stupid. She hadn't been thinking, and she had to  _always_ be thinking, for him. She had just been so worried about him, so caught up in the fact that she could have lost him— that she could  _still_ lose him because of how he was hurting himself, and how likely he was to do it again. And he had been so close and had been trying to reap so much comfort from her, and it had just been an accumulation of everything. Of handling cases, of going out to eat, of laughing together, of nights spent in talking or drinking, of magic tricks he'd shined over and she had pretended to be impatient with. Of the pain she'd felt when Jonathan had rejected her, of all the pain she felt whenever she had to listen to Cameron scream and cry, of wanting to fix him, of wanting this to be over, and she should have stopped, she should have been more aware, she shouldn't have pushed as far as she did, but she just hadn't been thinking and it was all her fault and Cameron was likely blaming himself and—

Eventually she couldn't stay away. After the third day, Dina was calling her practically every hour. Asking her to come back, trying to figure out the problem she knew nothing about but just knew existed. Kay couldn't keep saying no— conjuring up excuses. But more importantly, she just couldn't go much longer without seeing Cameron. It was killing her to know she was to blame for this, but it was killing her even more not to know how he was, or  _see_  how he was. So she went back. Feeling the weight of everything on her shoulders and suffering a bad taste in her mouth.

And walking in, she could feel it. The tension. The fact that it was a bad night.

Dina Jordan and Gunter were all waiting for her, triplet looks on their faces and triplet questions on their lips. It multiplied her guilt, which she hadn't even thought was possible. Before she even had the chance to really step inside, Gunter was snapping at her. Which she knew she deserved. "What did you do?" he growled, the question already barbed with blame before she could even tell him. She couldn't answer; she had to swallow the lump in her throat first, to get anything out, and the task was too much.

Dina flashed him a warning look that managed to silence him, at least for the time being, before she looked back at Kay. Though she'd stuck up for her, her stare was still wary when she did. None of the three said anything at all. Dina's eyes just went from Kay, towards the living room, and Kay received the message plainly. Her stomach knotted, but she turned all the same and started that way without a word. She felt their eyes follow her, until she was out of their view. But somehow, the pressure still lingered.

Cameron was laying down on the couch, on his side— something he wasn't supposed to do. He was curled under a blanket, which was tugged up over his nose. His face was mostly hidden but his eyes were hollow and empty as they just stared straight ahead. She couldn't tell how sick he looked. She walked as close as she dared and ended up stopping a few feet away. Her voice was weak when it came out. "Cameron…" His only reaction was to close his eyes. She looked down at the ground. "…Cameron, I can't…apologize enough for—"

"You didn't do anything wrong." She could hardly hear him. He was mumbling in the first place— with his throat, it only increased the difficulty. "It was me." There was no life at all in the words. No emotion. No…anything. "It's okay. Just don't worry about it." He pulled the blanket up even more. "It was stupid in the first place."

Her heart tugged. "What…what do you mean?"

"You and me. It's stupid. It wouldn't work."

Her reply was small. Hurt. "…Why not?" she whispered.

"Don't do that." Still, the words carried nothing inside them. They were empty shells. Tears blurred her vision as Cameron went on. "Don't pretend you don't know, it just makes it harder for both of us. I'm not good enough for you. Not anymore." She started to argue. She started to craft an objection, but he wasn't going to take one. "You don't want someone like me. And I don't want to drag you down." He shifted, to bury his face more into the pillow. "So it's fine."

Her lips trembled. She took a step closer. "Cameron…I—"

" _Please stop_." And the request was enough to render her mute, because it was suddenly so tearful and choked. Like a switch had been turned the second she started to try anyway. He was pulling the blanket over his head now, but she saw that he was cringing deeply, and tears were already working down his cheeks. She jerked back like he'd slapped her. She said nothing else, but he repeated the beg and made her feel ill. " _Please just stop, Kay, just don't_." Clenched sobs bordered every word. Like they were a fence line, and he was trying to keep her on the other side of it.

She couldn't fight. She couldn't do anything but stare at him brokenly.

He could hear footsteps retreating, and Cameron lowered the blanket again to see that she was gone. He was alone. Which was better, because he could breathe heavily and cry into his hands and nobody would be there to look at him like he was pathetic— like he wasn't already very well aware of the fact. He felt everything. Anger, disappointment, self-loathing, regret, sorrow…it was like a grab-basket of anything at all, unless it was actually anything positive. He had had feelings for Kay for so long, and he had never voiced them. He hadn't ever thought for a second that she shared them. And now, he found out too late. He couldn't be with her. He couldn't be a burden to her like that. And she wouldn't even want him…if she— if she knew what he'd—

" _You ruined everything, is what you did!"_  Cameron flinched as he heard Gunter's voice echo down the hall.  _"He was getting better, and then you come in and—"_

" _Gunter, stop!"_ Dina was snapping. He wanted to cover his ears.  _"She can't be—"_

" _No, she can't be blamed for any of it!"_ Gunter yelled scornfully.  _"Because it's all_ Jonathan's  _fault,_ isn't it, _Kay!?"_ Cameron gritted his teeth together so hard his head split in pain.

Kay's reply was too quiet to hear.

" _That's rich, coming from you!"_ Gunter spat.  _"I never should have left, I knew you would have just—"_

" _Gunter, lay off her!"_ Jordan shouted.  _"She's been helping Cameron the most this entire time, you can't take this one slip-up and—"_

" _He hasn't eaten a_ single thing _in three days, and you want to defend her!? He woke up this morning screaming bloody murder, I thought someone was killing him! You want to let that slide!?"_

" _Gunter!"_ Dina hissed. "He'll hear you!"

There was a small burst of silence. Cameron heard footsteps climbing the stairs and then the voices were too distant. He could hear them faintly, but he didn't have a chance of understanding, anymore. They must have fenced themselves into a room upstairs to keep fighting about him. He screwed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, more tears burning his face. He was ruining everything. What would be happening if he'd stayed in jail— if he'd been killed in that supply room instead? Everything would be fine. He was just tearing everything apart, now. And he was being irrational, and he knew it. He was being stupid about every little thing, but he couldn't stop it, and that made it even worse. To  _know_  he was ridiculous and stupid and pathetic…but not know how to counteract it.

He stayed tucked underneath the blanket, crying softly. Feeling sorry for himself because that was the only thing he was good at nowadays. He listened as the yelling didn't stop, and only escalated. A couple of times it was loud enough so that he could maybe pick out a few words, but he really didn't want to know what all they were saying. Eventually, it started to rain outside, and the more it picked up, the harder it became to actually hear the confrontation taking place on the level above it. It was the tiniest of reliefs. He'd take what he could get. He tried to concentrate on the pounding raindrops instead, and the way they sounded on the roof.

He loved rain. He'd always loved rain— when he was little he would run out, sometimes when it was still pouring, and he'd jump in every single puddle he could find. Jonathan had liked the rain, too— he'd always made tea and sat to watch it, though; he didn't like going out like he did. But sometimes they'd done that…just sat together and watched a storm pass. It had always been relaxing. Cameron had always liked it. Jonathan had, too.

Or…maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just pretending for  _that_ , too. Maybe that one was a lie, just like everything else was.

He kept crying. At this point, he was just impressed he wasn't all out of water. Somehow there was always more. The rain was calming, though. He listened to that and stopped heaving as much…began to calm down because was there really a point in crying anymore? He listened to the rain, and the thunder that came after every flash of lightning. And then he heard another noise. A softer, thudding one that made him frown and look out from the blanket again. He thought at first it was someone upstairs doing something, but he soon realized it wasn't. It was knocking.

Who in the  _world_  was knocking on their door in the pouring rain at ten at night? Cameron ignored it. The knocking got louder though— the person on the doorstep only beat harder and faster. Cameron scowled. He waited for someone upstairs to realize and come down. But nobody did. And the person kept knocking. Two full minutes passed of Cameron just laying there and listening to the person knock, their urgency never letting up. He was frustrated and drained over literally everything, and  _now_  he could be frustrated by the fact he would hardly be able to get up and walk to answer whoever this person was.

He might as well go ahead and add that to the list, he supposed.

He pushed the blanket off of him and forced himself up to his feet. Sure enough, the whole world spun at the simple effort it took to stand. He stumbled and had to catch himself, hanging onto the couch for balance and staring down at the floor to try and get his vision to stop shaking. He felt dizzy. It took a while for him to blink it away, and even when he did, he still stayed light-headed. But still, he turned and started for the noise anyway, gritting his teeth against the pain that it inflicted and trying not to cry out. It took him another two minutes to just get there. Still, the visitor was  _not_ letting him forget they were still waiting.

If it was politician, Cameron would literally jump out the window, and he'd _better_  not be tested on that, because he  _would_ do it.

" _Okay_!" he snapped, once he finally reached it. The person was still knocking, refusing to slow down. Cameron scowled and grabbed the doorknob, practically flinging it open. " _What in the world do you even—!?"_

He stopped. The second he saw who was on the doorstep, he couldn't finish. He couldn't do  _anything_. His eyes just flew wide and his arm fell uselessly back to his side. His mouth hung open…just in case he wanted to say something or would be able to eventually manage it. But he was mute. Couldn't even think. Which was probably better, because if he  _could_ do anything, he wasn't sure  _what_ would have come out. His knees were starting to go weak, like they might buckle. Like he might collapse. For now, though, he didn't. For now, he just stared. Blank.

Jonathan was standing on the other side of the threshold, soaked from the rain. Cameron was shocked, but when Jonathan saw him, his reaction was ten times as sharp. His eyes widened and all the color drained away from his face. He flew through everything. He looked at the gauze wrapped around Cameron's right forearm, he looked at how skinny he was, like he'd dropped a hundred pounds. He saw how he was practically keeling over just trying to stand, how he swayed like he had no balance at all. The bruises that littered practically every inch of his skin— and the darker ones around his neck.

Cameron watched his brother's face go slack in horror and confusion.

And then he really did collapse.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's my super-fun pattern for this story:  
> 1.) I can never post a chapter before five am it's always gotta be at five am for some ungodly reason  
> 2.) Every single chapter gets longer and I'm not even exaggerating. First chapter was 25 pages second was 26 third was 30 this one is 31  
> So those are two things I wish would stop
> 
> I'm not very sure about this chapter in general in the first place...I think my doubts are getting too big and they're kind of overshadowing everything else? I don't know. It's annoying because it's thirty pages of work, I'd kind of like to appreciate it a little bit lol. I tried! Not every chapter is gonna be a winner.  
> I'm sorry this update took a bit longer, I really hope the wait is worth it? I'm attempting to work on three things at once, the one I get the most feedback for is usually who I go to, so. I'm everywhere. A lot of work. I really really hope you all like it. Recently I've been shoving myself under a microscope more and it's kind of stressful and worrying. I'm just hoping it pays off.  
> (This note is long I'm sorry) I tried to fit as much into this chapter as I could, but I couldn't fit a lot so. If there are questions you have it'll probably end up carrying over. Some time passes in this one, so it's just hard to juggle all of that. It was already monster-long at thirty-one pages, so. Just wanted to mention that.
> 
> And! If any of you see a rogue reviewer wewriteletters yelling at me for harming her personally, don't be fooled because she's partly to blame for what goes on around here-- she's given me a number of ideas for this story in particular. So this is my way of saying thank you but also stop yelling at me because some of this is on you. (<3)

You don't realize how heavy everything is. You don't  _really_ realize how much effort it  _truly_  takes to keep yourself standing or keep yourself balanced. After all, it's over one hundred pounds, for most people, if you think about it. Every time you stand, you're fighting one hundred pounds of pressure pushing back on you. When you stumble, it's one hundred pounds of weight suddenly dropping out from underneath you that you have to put to a dead stop. You're constantly holding yourself up, and that's actually a lot of weight to hold and manage. You don't realize that. Not until something like this happens. Not until you become so aware of it that you can't possibly keep it up.

It took a second. To register what in the world was happening…who was standing on the doorstep, what that meant, what was going on. It almost took  _too_  long. But when he did, and when the dots finally connected, suddenly he  _did_  realize how heavy everything was. Suddenly he felt every little pound, dragging him down. Suddenly it was impossible to hold himself up— already, the feat had been difficult as it was. Cameron started to stumble— his legs started to go weak and his knees started to buckle inwards against his will. Suddenly, the room started to spin and he couldn't even see his brother's face anymore as blackness started to creep forward to obscure his vision.

But some part of his mind stayed intact enough to try and save himself. When he felt himself start to fall, his legs fought to keep him upright, and he began to stumble instead. His bad arm started to fumble out to grab onto the wall and stop himself somehow that way. His head wasn't anywhere near on his shoulders, but his lips started to twitch anyway. To try and communicate. However, loose and unsure mumbling was all that could get out of his mouth. It didn't make the sense he might have wanted it to. "You…you're…I…"

"…meron?" Jonathan's voice sounded like it was echoing down to him from the other side of a long hallway. He could hardly hear. He stumbled sharper to the side. His arm wasn't strong enough to brace against the wall, so he ended up hitting his shoulder hard against it. He felt himself start to slide, and he tried to move his other arm, as if it'd do the job better. "Camer…what— …-oing on?" He couldn't hear all of it.

But he did feel a hand reach out and start to wrap around his wrist. And immediately he hissed and jerked away, like the simple touch was a hundred and seven degrees. He pulled too sharply and ended up falling backwards, too quickly to catch himself. There was a last-ditch effort by his legs to save him, but that only helped to get him falling to the side. He felt his back collide hard against something, and when he buckled to the floor, something else did too. Whatever it was, he'd knocked it off the wall, and there was a loud thud followed by a splintering crack. It wasn't anywhere on Cameron's mind to look up and figure out what it was. By now he couldn't even see anything, despite how wide his eyes were as he stared down at the ground. His fingers were digging hard into the floorboards, and his breathing was fast and sharp as his heart rammed hard against his aching ribs.

"…eron!? …ok at me! Wha…-ng!?"

"You…" Cameron's face was completely numb, just like his voice came out to be, "…left…" Every word was agonizingly slow and drawn out.

"Lo…me! Cam…–alm down, you…okay?"

Gunter had been halfway through yelling something when they all heard it. Out of nowhere, there was a huge slam. The sound of something heavy hitting the ground, and at once, the argument was gone as if suddenly made invisible. Everyone's mouths snapped shut and they turned, whirling to the door they'd closed behind them in the effort to hide their confrontation. It only took a brief second for them to snap into action. In that brief second, they tried to listen and see whether or not they could hear anything else. Perhaps it was the fact they  _couldn't_ that got them running out so fast.

Dina was first to burst out of the room and for the stairs, Jordan hard on her heels. He was sprinting so fast that he was practically falling over himself. Gunter and Kay were left to take up the back of the group. They all scrambled downstairs, each of them caught up in a sudden rush of blame, confusion, fear, alarm, and so on. A multitude of things, that were probably rash reactions just to respond to the sound of something falling. And yet, for some reason, this was where they were now as a whole, and they couldn't help it. They couldn't help that a simple unidentifiable sound caused them to practically leap out of their skin.

They ran downstairs and started to rush for the living room, and Kay followed Dina and Jordan blindly when they veered off towards where they'd figured the noise came from. They ended up heading for the door— not the couch, where she had left Cameron. Their halt was skidding and abrupt; Kay almost slammed right into Jordan with enough force to send them toppling. She recovered, though, and half-fell to the side, to try and look around them. She saw what had fallen— it was one of the large picture frames that adorned practically every wall of the Archive. One of the many mementos of the past that were still hanging around like a steadfast hope it could be the same again on day. Now, one of them had been knocked down, and it looked like there was some glass that had splintered off, as well.

Cameron was bent down low, reaching towards the floor, and at first Kay thought he was just leaning down to start picking up the mess. When she realized  _how_  it was he was crouching. Bending so sharply at the waist like that would put him in a world of agony— his ribs were far too bruised. Usually he couldn't even walk without at least flinching in pain, and now he was suddenly able to lean down that low without a single issue? Her face fell and she opened her mouth to say something, when she moved and saw what he was actually bending down towards.

He was bending down for…Cameron.

It took a moment for the realization to come. But when it did, she felt it hit like a punch directly to the gut. It took her breath away and for what felt like forever she could only stare with wide eyes, icy shock rooting her to the spot. Nobody else moved either, or even spoke. They all just stared at Jonathan, soaking wet from the rain and dripping all over the hardwood floor. He wasn't looking at any of them— he hadn't even noticed they'd rushed into the room. He was staring down at Cameron with huge, horrified eyes, ten times as baffled as they were by seeing him. He was crouching low, twisting to try and catch his brother's eyes as he reached out for him. "Cameron?" he was demanding. Kay's eyes flickered between the two of them wildly as her wits slowly started to return. "Cameron, what's wrong!?  _Cameron_!  _Breathe_!"

She looked down at him and that was when she snapped.

Cameron was trembling from head to toe. His expression was completely blank, much too similar to the look he'd worn after she'd yanked him out of his nightmare that night on the couch. His eyes were stretched huge but they were glassy and way too unfocused. She could hear his breathing from here— that punctured and desperate gasping that was unfortunately second nature by now. He was crouched on the ground, his back hunched in a way she was sure could only be hurting him terribly, and yet he was still swaying from side to side like he was in danger of full on sagging to the floor.

Looking at him this way was horrible.

Because by this point, it was so familiar.

By this point, it wasn't surprising. It was natural.

And the reason it was, was currently stooping down and grabbing onto Cameron's shoulders, only making it all worse.

She snapped. Completely. She was acting before she could even think. Or…before she could even think past the thought of Cameron. Of how his eyes had used to be filled laughter and excitement, and now they were dulled and extinguished. How typical it was to see them glass over with tears, even if he tried to hide it like he so often did. The way he'd sounded when Kay had woken up in the middle of the night— choking and gasping against his own hands that were latched around his just-healing throat. How terrified he'd looked as he'd shoved her away. How all his smiles now, when he managed to conjure them, were tinged with a weak kind of sorrow. How, when nobody was talking to him, he quieted and stared off into space with a look so strange and haunted that she couldn't even bear to see it.

She thought about a lot of things.

It's just that none of them were about her  _actions_.

"Jonathan!" If she was noticing anything else, she would have noticed how she sounded. How rage filled every single syllable of the name. Immediately he whirled around. It only made her angrier. It absolutely  _infuriated_ her, when their eyes met. When she saw that he was perfectly fine, not a single scratch on him. He looked exactly the same— in fact, it looked like he had a  _tan_. But, oddly enough, she wasn't as angry about that part. Not right now. Right now, she just saw… _him_. And she saw how Cameron  _used_  to look. Healthy. Not ashen and gray. Not underweight from refusing to eat. Not with horrible, dark bags under his eyes after so many sleepless nights. Seeing them side by side, the contrast was so sharp, she felt sick. "Get away from him!" she practically screamed. Cameron didn't even bat an eye at her yell. Somehow, it looked like he hadn't even heard it.

"What's wrong with him!?" Jonathan had the audacity to sound concerned, and wildly so. And it was there, all over his face—  _how_ was it there!?  _How_ could he  _possibly_  even manage the  _smallest bit_  of worry!? Not even guilt yet, just confusion!? It was so appalling to her that it rendered her speechless for just a split second. Which he used to turn back to Cameron, who was still heaving for air. "Cam!?" She positively seethed at the nickname. Cameron still didn't rouse. "Cam, what happened!? Cam, look at me!" Cameron flinched hard. Kay's stomach heaved. ''m s'ry I can't look at you.'  _"Look at me, Cam, loo—"_

" _Jonathan Black!"_ Her words were stiff, now. She reached back with one hand and closed the distance to clamp her other down hard on his shoulder. His eyes flew wide, and he was so caught off-guard that she could latch the first handcuff around his wrist. And that was when all hell broke loose. That was when Gunter burst forward, already yelling a million things at once to Kay. That was when Jordan rushed to plant himself in between them, cringing when he only started to hurl the abuse at him instead. When Dina looked between both groups, rigid and torn, until she came to her own conclusion and bypassed everyone entirely, to skirt around them and drop to her knees at Cameron's side.

She leaned out and gingerly started to try and rouse him, ducking down so she could speak lowly into his ear. She kept her voice as soft as she possibly could. "Cameron, are you okay?" He still didn't react and she grimaced, trying to rub his arms to maybe bring him back into touch with reality. "Cameron, darling, calm down," she comforted, sounding strained. "It's alright…everything is fine still…"

" _You have the right to remain silent! Anything you say can and will be—"_

" _Stop, hang on, wait!"_ Jonathan was fighting, still staring at Cameron in alarm. Which only grew when he saw how gentle Dina was being with him, and how pained she looked as she was. Jonathan jerked to get his arms out of Kay's grasp. To rush back over to his brother, which just made Kay hold even tighter to him.  _"What happened!?"_ he demanded.  _"Tell me what happened! What's wrong with him!?"_

" _Let him explain!"_ Gunter yelled, Jordan fighting tooth and nail to keep him away from Kay. They were practically falling over each other— Jordan was barely any kind of roadblock. Still, he was trying to dig in his heels and at least slow his advance. But Gunter's anger was only mounting, and that wasn't helping at all. Jordan was starting to latch onto his arm, so he could tug backwards when Gunter got in front of him.  _"Let him explain, what are you doing!? He's not doing anything, you don't need those! You don't need those— stop it!"_

All of this was happening at the same time. All of it combined into a mess of yelling and shouting that would have probably been indiscernible to anyone looking on from the sidelines.

" _Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law!"_ Kay continued to yell, yanking Jonathan back and managing to cuff his other hand with difficulty.

" _Cameron!"_ Jonathan yelled. He pulled, his expression stricken as he looked at his brother.  _"Let me talk to him first!"_ he begged. Kay started to pull him back for the door, to her car. He staggered, staring at him in desperation.  _"No, let me— let me talk to him!"_ His voice broke on this one, but again, Kay couldn't bring herself to feel the tiniest bit of pity. Gunter on the other hand was shoving Jordan off now, resorting to yelling obscenities at Kay as she continued to drag Jonathan out. Dina saw this and glanced at Cameron for a moment, torn, before she shot up and went over to help hold him back. Together it was at least more certain, and they could keep him from dashing out and interfering in any way.

He started to yell at them, now.  _"You're going to let her take him away!? He came back! He wasn't doing anything wrong— you can't take him away! Let him talk first!"_ Gunter screamed back at Kay.  _"Let him talk, let him talk to Cameron!"_

" _You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, one will be appointed to you by the court!"_ she went on. " _Do you understand—!?"_

" _It was a mistake!"_ Jonathan yelled, ignoring her completely.  _"Cameron! Cameron, look at me, I made a mistake! Look at me, Cameron!"_

The faraway look in Cameron's eyes was gradually receding, but he still didn't look up from the floor.

" _Jonathan, you're already in trouble for escaping, do you want resisting arrest to be added on top of that!?"_ Kay demanded. He staggered at this, his eyes widening with frustration and desperation. But her question seemed to be enough to remind him what was actually going on. The fight began to leave him, to be replaced with defeat and deep, sorrowful remorse. He stopped tugging against her. However, his stricken expression never strayed from his brother.

" _Let him explain!"_ Gunter roared.  _"Let him explain, he just wants to explain! Why are you taking her side!?"_ he demanded, looking at the two holding him back.  _"Why are you letting her do this!?"_

"Gunter, she has to," Dina explained. Though it was difficult to, around the lump in her throat. "You have to let her, she—"

" _She wants to pin this all on him!"_ he screeched.  _"This entire time she's been blaming him, now that he's back she's going to make sure he takes the fall!"_

"Wait…" Cameron rasped, the intelligence back in his eyes by now. His voice was so ruined and breathless, nobody heard.

"Kay's doing what she has to, Gunter!" Jordan objected. "He escaped from prison, what else do you think she's gonna do!?"

"Oh, but you'd  _love_ for him to get the blame!" he growled, flashing the other a glare.

"Wait," Cameron repeated, a little louder. But still not loud enough.

Jordan met the harsh look wholeheartedly. His voice was stiff when he growled: "Where else does the blame go?"

" _You're just as bad as her, you'd love it if—!"_

" _How in the world can you look at Cameron and—!?_

Dina tried to interject as they started to fall into an agreement, trying to yell over the other. "This doesn't  _matter_! Can't you see it doesn't  _matter_!? This  _has_ to be done, so it doesn't matter what we think!  _Cameron_ matters— our job is to take care of  _Cameron!_ Not—!"

"Come on," Kay muttered, quieter now. But her grip was still hard on Jonathan as she started to pull him back.

Cameron's eyes were slowly widening, and at Kay's command, his head snapped up. It was like a coin was flipped. Completely different. "Wait!" he yelled, his voice grating itself painfully out. Jordan and Gunter kept arguing, oblivious to anything else. But Dina Kay and Jonathan looked to Cameron at once. Jonathan weakened at how fragile and chipped the call had been— it was all Cameron could manage. He opened his mouth to say something, trying to catch his brother's eyes. But Cameron wasn't looking at him at all. Right now, he was only looking at Kay.

And he looked petrified.

"Where are you taking him?" he breathed. Kay was silent, just staring at him with an intense amount of sorrow. All of her anger dissipated, when their eyes locked. He still seemed woozy but he started to shove himself up to his feet anyway. Immediately, Dina swooped over to support him and make sure he wouldn't fall. He didn't even blink when she grabbed him, though; he was just staring at Kay like he was a deer in headlights.  _"Where are you taking him?"_  he demanded just a little bit louder when she didn't answer.

Her voice was hollow when she did. "I'll…take him in for—"

"Don't take him back to Rockland," Cameron interrupted. She grimaced, though she'd known it was coming. Jonathan was staring at his brother like he'd never seen him before as he watched as his eyes start to well and his breathing sharpen again. His voice was thicker when he repeated himself. He was trying to be firmer, but he was failing miserably. "Don't take him back to Rockland, Kay,  _don't_." She stared at him sadly, too choked to reply. He tried to take a few steps forward, as if he wanted to follow them, but he stumbled and nearly fell. Had Dina not been there to catch him, he would have. His expression was raw with pain when he realized that all he could do was beg. Which didn't have a history of working. His breathing hitched even more. "You can't let him go back there.  _Promise_  me you won't let him go back there!"

"…Cameron—"

" _Promise me!"_

This cut off Jordan and Gunter. They both turned and looked at Cameron in shock when he all but screamed this. Dina ducked her head and closed her eyes tightly. Jonathan was still mute, staring at him in abject horror and confusion. Cameron still wasn't looking at him. He was glaring tearfully at Kay, his jaw locked backwards to keep his lips from trembling even more than they already were. She took her time replying. Or maybe she didn't, and the atmosphere was so tense it just felt like a lifetime. Regardless, she did eventually. It was barely anything at all. "I'll figure something out."

He stared at her, still expectant.

After a heartbeat, she added: "I promise."

He held her stare for a moment more, like he wasn't positive she was being truthful. But something in her face and her voice must have swayed him, because he tore his gaze away. In doing so, his eyes ended up catching on Jonathan's. And they stayed there. His brother said nothing, and neither did he. Dina was still holding to Cameron, and with every passing second it seemed like she was having to support him more and more. "Cameron, you have to lay down," she proposed, her voice soft as down. Cameron didn't even blink; he just kept staring at his brother, his expression filled with so much sorrow and pain that it split Jonathan's chest to even look at. Still, neither moved. Under such a stare, Jonathan was rendered mute, though he was trying to scramble over the hurdle as fast as he could.

Dina prompted Cameron once more, and somehow she got her words to be even softer. "Come on, darling."

Jonathan opened his mouth to finally say something. But Dina was already leading Cameron away. Which might have been just as good, because he was still so winded he wasn't sure what would have come out in the first place. He just watched as the two of them turned and headed back for the living room. He saw how severely Cameron limped, and how every other step seemed punctured with a gasp or a choke. How he swayed and Dina had to right him every so often. He listened to her talk, her voice fading as she seemed to just be saying a whole lot of comforts and soothes. "We'll get everything sorted out…it'll be fine, Cameron…Kay wouldn't let that happen…"

Jonathan waited for Cameron to brush her off for being too motherly. Or step away from her and walk on his own. But he didn't do either of those things. It looked like he had no choice. He  _had_ to rely on her. The other twin was reeling, trying to figure out what in the world was actually going on. He looked at Gunter and Jordan to see that they were both just staring mournfully after Cameron now, their fight forgotten. He looked back at Kay and saw the expression on her face was a sickened one, like she was trying her best not to vomit. There was an unbelievable amount of sorrow and pain in her eyes as she watched Cameron stagger away, and it took a long couple of seconds for her to be able to draw herself back together.

Once she did, she steeled herself and grabbed Jonathan's shoulder to turn and herd him outside.

This time, there wasn't fighting. Not from anyone. Not from Gunter, and not from Jonathan.

In fact, as they went out in the rain and headed for the car, Jonathan just followed her blindly, completely numb.

He didn't even hear her when she said something to him.

All he could think of was his brother's stare, hollow and aching and somehow filled with more than a lifetime's worth of suffering.

Somehow completely foreign to him.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Plenty of horrible people had sat in the very same chair he was sitting in now. Plenty of horrible people that had no inkling of guilt for what they'd done. Murderers, kidnappers, drug dealers…any crime at all, and there had been a mastermind behind it in this very same position. But so far, in the length of her entire career, never before had anyone sat there that had turned Kay's stomach as much as Jonathan Black was now. Nobody had ever incited  _this_ much anger in her, or this much disgust. She could hardly speak around her emotions, they were choking her so much. Had it not been for Jonathan breaking the silence in the first place, she likely never would have managed it.

"What happened?" he rasped.

"I could ask you the same thing." Kay was growling before he was even through speaking. She was standing at the door, as if she was preparing herself for when he would suddenly leap up and make a dash for an escape. He wasn't. The whole way here he had been compliant and silent. Entirely obedient. He'd sat down in the chair upon stiff request; he hadn't even made a move to get out of his cuffs, even. With the readied comeback, Jonathan tore his gaze away from the table and looked up at her; the stricken expression he was wearing didn't faze her at all. She met the strain with a renewed glare. "You want to tell me why Cameron was in jail instead of you?" she demanded, poison dripping from every word.

Jonathan's mouth hung halfway open for a moment. She could see him fumbling to decide which plotline was more important. She could tell he was dangerously close to making the  _wrong_  choice. But he saw her glare sharpen even more at the implication he would disregard her, and a trace of a grimace crossed his face as he started to bite it back. Still, it took a second for him to actually get words out of his ajar mouth. Even when he did, he stuttered on them. "I…I wasn't…I was…" Nothing seemed to suffice. Not that anything _would_ , to her. But it wasn't long at all before Jonathan was closing his eyes and giving up on trying to explain.

Verbally, anyway.

Instead, he reached down the collar of his shirt, awkwardly because of the way his hands were bound in front of him, and pulled out a necklace. Kay hadn't noticed he was wearing it before now; it had been tucked under his clothes, likely to keep it out of the rain. The shape of the charm at the end was odd…it took a couple of buffering seconds for her to realize what it actually was. It wasn't a pendant, it was a USB. A flash drive, on the end of a silver chain. Silence reigned, because Kay sure as hell wasn't going to say anything. She just studied it. It was up to Jonathan once again to break the quiet. Which he did, just as tensely.

"Everything is on there," he announced in a murmur, not lifting his eyes from the device.

Her reply came belated, and slow. "What is?" Even though she knew exactly what he was meaning.

"Everything about that night. It proves that she was the one behind it all. That I didn't do anything."

Her anger flared even hotter, if such a thing was even possible. It was bile now, rising up in the back of her throat so much she had to make a conscious effort to hold it back. So much that when she spoke, her voice practically shook with every bit of it. That restrained rage. She may as well have screamed, for the effect would have been the same. "This is why you left?" she asked. She thought of the way Cameron had first looked when he'd limped over to the table she was sitting at only to buckle and collapse into the chair. How he'd shaken and cried and jerked backwards the very instant her fingertips touched his skin. She repeated herself, her words growing even tauter. "This is why you escaped?"

The question seemed simple to her. At the very least, it seemed to only leave room for one clear answer. But for some reason, Jonathan met it with uncertainty. When he didn't respond as readily as before, she looked up from the necklace on the table to see that his expression was still the same strained, indecipherable one. There was conflict there, where Kay knew it had no right to be. She proved this when she continued. "Cameron told me that he was in the process of offering to help you when you turned on him." Jonathan ducked his head again. She was furious he had the audacity to try and hide from this. She started to grow just a bit louder. "He told me he was offering you this  _exact_ help when you refused him, so do you expect me to believe that this is all you left for?"

"It wasn't." Her eyes narrowed in grim satisfaction. She still wasn't making a move to even touch the thing on the table. Jonathan's eyes were raw with pain, and he cringed when he tried to explain himself. Just like before, there was difficulty. "It…wasn't at the  _time_ , at the  _time_  I thought…" He shook his head. "I don't know what I thought, I thought that…what she was saying was  _right_ , or…not  _right_ , but it was…I just thought that I…" Her scowl only grew harder. He still wasn't looking at her. "I wasn't going to  _stay_ with her, I was going to—"

"You were with her, then." The deadness in her tone didn't allow it to be a question.

Jonathan took his time again in replying. "…Yes."

There was that bile again, like she could vomit at any split second. Like Cameron, when he'd first gotten home, and how he would  _constantly_  be throwing up. That had gotten less severe as the days went on. Was that progress going to be lost now, with all of this? She had a million things she wanted to say at the confirmation. She had a million things she wanted to  _scream._ But, maybe thankfully, only one of them came out. "Where is she now?"

"I can tell you where she was when I left," Jonathan replied. "I can't tell you where she might be now."

"Why  _did_  you leave?" Kay flashed. His fingers curled down tightly to dig into his palms. She noticed it only because she knew it was something Cameron couldn't do. He couldn't hold anything well with his fractured hand— though it was getting better, it was still weaker than his other, and it was a gamble on whether or not he could keep a grip on something for very long without it falling. Whenever he did, the pain it inflicted was more than evident on his face. "Why come back at all, if you left in the first place? If you said you didn't leave only for that evidence? What changed your mind?"

Jonathan looked at her now, but he really should not have. Because, especially when he answered her, her glare only grew ten times as sharp. "Cameron did," he practically whispered, like he couldn't manage anything more than a mumble. She said absolutely nothing. He elaborated without prompt. "He…called me. When I left, all I was thinking was…" He started over. "He made me realize I was making a mistake. She was manipulating me, and…I was trying to manipulate her, too, but it was…just a mess and I didn't slow down to think until…I…" He trailed off and for a moment he just stared, weakening with even more pain. He repeated his question. "What happened?"

She had only seen him like this once before. Usually, Jonathan was smug and haughty. Like he wanted to be sure everyone else in the room understood he didn't need their approval or their respect. He was usually cold and collected and that was it. But she had seen him like this one time before. She'd seen this pain, this fear, this worry, and this uncertainty. When Cameron was trapped in that vault, and suffocating slowly, she had seen this same look on his face, then. She'd heard the same waver in his voice.

Which didn't make sense.

He'd always cared about Cameron. When he was taken, she could hear it in his voice, and see the betraying hints of emotion on his face when they were working together to find him. And it had been blatantly clear in the way he'd screamed and flung himself against the door of that vault, with his brother trapped on the other side. When it had finally opened, Jonathan had been the first to rip open the door and throw himself down for Cameron. He'd grabbed him and held him close, like he'd needed physical reassurance he was alright otherwise he wouldn't believe it. He didn't hate Cameron. That had been Cameron's words from before, when they were in the car. But they couldn't be true. None of the evidence showed that.

But then…if he didn't… _why had he done this?_

"You left him at Rockland." Her words were so stiff, they could be snapped into two. Wisely, he just listened. He shut up. "He thought you had some kind of plan. So he didn't call me for help. And I didn't realize he was there." With this, the last moment they had shared passed briefly between them, and Kay's anger faltered only briefly, to be replaced instead with harrowing sadness and hurt. Once she stumbled into it, it was difficult to drag herself out. Not only because it had been a cruel act in the first place. But because she had genuinely liked Jonathan. She'd wanted to help him. She'd vouched for him time and time again, and she had listened to Cameron recount numerous stories from their childhood, all with the same amount of fondness which must have rubbed off on her in some way.

She had liked Jonathan Black. And now here they were.

The falter was only for a heartbeat. It passed quickly, and once it did, she was leaning right back into that anger. Harder, almost, to make sure she didn't make the mistake a second time. But her anger made it difficult to keep a clearer head. To figure out what to say— what words to pick. What to tell Jonathan, because she knew without a doubt that Cameron wanted her to say absolutely nothing. She could practically hear him now, begging her to stop before she said something she couldn't take away. Jonathan kept staring at her with that same look on his face, and she eventually forced out the best thing she could manage. "I didn't find out until three days later, when I went to see him myself. He was refusing visitors. I…had to take him to the hospital. He's been recovering at home ever since."

"What  _happened_?" Jonathan pressed.

She inhaled quickly and stepped away from the door to go over to the table. Still, she didn't sit. "I want to talk about you and MW," she said thinly. "I want you to tell me exactly  _why_ you left,  _where_ you went,  _what_ you were doing—"

"I want to know what happened to my brother," Jonathan interrupted.

"You didn't want that two weeks ago," Kay growled immediately.

His eyes narrowed defensively. However, his voice was noticeably more fragile when he tried to keep going. "I made a mistake." She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned her back to him. "I made a  _mistake_ , I need to make it _right_ , I need to know what—"

She whirled around again. "What you  _need_ to do right now, is understand the  _position_ that you are in," she hissed. He jerked at the sharp reaction, but she bypassed it. "And I'll be the first to let you know: it is  _not_ a position you can sit and demand things from. Right now, I'm going to need you to just—"

"He said in his voicemail someone broke his hand," Jonathan interjected yet again. She closed her eyes and gnashed her teeth together. "He kept saying 'they'— was he attacked? Was he doing something—?"

"He isn't to be blamed  _for anything that happened_!" she practically snarled. "In  _any_ way!"

"But he  _did_ —?"

"Jonathan, I brought you here to have you tell me—"

"Why was he panicking? He couldn't even breathe, he was— he wasn't even  _Cameron!"_ Kay seethed. It was getting harder and harder to keep a lid on it. Jonathan had all the pieces, she  _knew_  he did. He was holding them in his hands and he could see them plainly. It was just his desire  _not to_  that was keeping him from clicking it all together. It wasn't on his mind, and why should it be? It hadn't been on anyone else's. It wasn't on the team's minds, until she'd handed them those antibiotics. The only reason it had been on  _her_ mind was because she had seen so many other people. Had she not, she would have avoided the explanation like the plague as well. Just like Jonathan was doing, now. Smart as he was – genius as he was – he didn't want this. So he was refusing to take it himself. He was waiting for the audible answer instead. The one she couldn't give him.

"We're here to discuss your part in this. Nothing else."

"When he answered the door he just—"

" _Jonathan_." Her voice was getting more and more strained. "You don't understand."

' _What happened to you?'_

' _Please don't ask me that.'_

"Because you're not  _telling_  me anything! That's my  _brother_!"

' _Maybe I trusted him so much…I didn't see anything else. I didn't see…how much he hated me.'_

"He can decide for himself whether or not he wants to tell you, I don't have any right to make that decision for him."

' _I just don't want you to see me like this.'_

"He couldn't even _look_  at me let alone say anything! If I knew what happened I could—"

"We are not here to discuss this." Her voice broke on the last two words. It was getting away from her. All of it was.

' _I don't even want to remember it. Much less talk about it.'_

"I deserve to—"

"You don't deserve  _anything_ ," she spat.

' _It was horrible, Kay, it was— …and I couldn't—'_

"I'm trying to make things righ—"

" _Jonathan, we are here to—"_

"I'll tell you  _everything_ , I just want to know how Cameron is!"

' _I'm not good enough for you. Not anymore.'_

"You have  _no right_  to just  _walk back in here_  and pretend that you didn't—"

"You have no right to keep this from me!" he burst. "I  _know_  I made a mistake, and I  _know_  something happened to him because of it! I want to make it right, but I want to know what—!"

" _He was raped!"_  It burst out before she could stop it. She'd been trying to keep a hold on it, she'd been trying to keep it back. But she couldn't take it anymore. It fell out, and once it did there was no changing it. Once it did, the anger she had built in front of her like a protective barrier immediately fell. Her glare melted. Her expression crumbled instead, and her vision immediately smeared with a painful surge of water. She couldn't even see Jonathan's reaction clearly. Everything was a blur. She was far too overwhelmed.

The moment it came out, she was horrified. She was horrified she had told him, when she knew that Cameron wouldn't have wanted her to in a million years. She could see her friend's face now, filled with shock and hurt and most of all that horrible burning shame that she had seen him wear time and again. She could see him stumble away from her, shaking his head and fumbling for the doorknob to get out and run away— to hide, because that was what was easiest to do. She was horrified she had taken the choice away from him on whether or not to tell his brother. She was horrified she had let herself get so upset it had slipped out so thoughtlessly.

But she was more horrified by the simple fact that it was  _true_. And further even than that, she was horrified because this was the very first time it was being openly acknowledged. This was the first time that the word had actually been said. Not danced around, not hinted at, not gestured vaguely to, but actually s _aid_. And now that it  _was_ , it made it all even worse. It hung far too heavy in the air, it tasted like acid on her tongue, but the second it was given life, she couldn't stop. The second she said it, she couldn't find the brakes. She couldn't keep her tears back, or her voice from shaking. She couldn't stop anything.

"He was _raped!"_ she repeated, her voice shattering to pieces on the word. When she stopped and stared at him, she could feel how hard her lips were trembling. Maybe that was why she rushed on. Maybe that was why she kept yelling. "I don't  _know_  anything else— I can't  _tell you anything else!_ I don't know by  _who_ , I don't know by  _how many_  people,  _I don't know how many times!"_ She inhaled sharply, every breath coming more like a gasp now.

Jonathan was silent.

Good. Because he didn't deserve to talk.

"All I know is that it happened because he was in that prison. Because  _you_ stuck him there!" she choked. "All I know is that even when he _was_ , he  _still_ didn't call me for help. He  _stayed_ there in that place, _for you._ To still be there whenever you decided to come back for him." Her voice was filled with scorn, now. She reached up to wipe roughly at her cheeks, but by this point it was probably a lost cause. "And even when he got home, he was  _still_  trying to fight for you— he was still trying to convince me that— that you had a  _plan_ , that you were coming  _back_ , that you couldn't possibly have done this just to—" She broke off, closing her eyes and shaking her head hard. "I don't even know why you would do it," she growled. "I can't even finish that sentence."

It was a very long time before Jonathan could get anything out. When he did, it didn't matter that Kay hadn't been able to make out his facial expression. It was there. The shock, the numbness, the confusion. And the guilt. The guilt was finally where it belonged, slowly gaining life to take up every single syllable and crevice of his words, and Kay waited to feel the satisfaction. She was waiting to feel the justice that she had been waiting to feel this entire time, once she saw his face freeze over in horror and culpability. But she didn't. She didn't feel anything when he started to unwind. She just felt empty.

"He…he was…?" Now that the answer had been given, he could click those pieces together. At first going far too slowly, because he was still hoping that when they were put together they would make a different picture. But once he realized it was inevitable, it was coming together faster. His eyes were widening more, and the shock and guilt could be mixed with anger, too. Blinking against her own tears, she saw that Jonathan's eyes were misting over fast. His voice was thicker when he picked it up again. She could hear it beginning to shake and cave in on itself. "He was— …no, he wasn't— not…"

She just wiped her eyes again and glared at him. At the insinuation she would make any of this up.

He inhaled quickly and shook his head hard. He resembled someone who had just gotten punched and was trying to regather themselves before it could happen again. Eventually he could spit something out, the more he managed the feat. "You have to let me see him," he choked after a second, rushing through the words so much that they practically blended together. She looked away. He didn't care. "You have to let me see him, you have to let me talk to him— I need to talk to him!" She bit down on her lower lip, struggling to keep herself composed. "I need to  _see him_!" Jonathan yelled, his eyes almost as crazed and desperate as Cameron's had been when he'd been yanked out of whatever nightmare had been plaguing him.  _"I need to know he's okay!"_

"Do you?" she asked, the two words hollow enough to hold water. With no feeling there at all.

Suddenly, it was all gone. All her anger, all her betrayal, all her fight. It was drained, and she was left with absolutely nothing. She could only stand there in silence and let her tears fall, feeling her chest yawn emptily and painfully. The words were all on the tip of her tongue. All the yelling she had built up in her mind. All the things she'd thought to tell Jonathan when she had had to listen to Cameron sob or wake up screaming. They were there, but suddenly she didn't see a point in hurling them at him. She didn't see what it would change. Because they wouldn't. No amount of yelling could change what had happened.

Jonathan had done this. He was the reason the light was extinguished from Cameron's eyes. He was the reason he never smiled anymore. He was the reason he couldn't sleep, couldn't eat. He hadn't actually done anything, but the reason Cameron had been able to be assaulted was solely on him. If Cameron hadn't been in that prison, he would be standing with her right now, perfectly fine and perfectly healthy. If Jonathan hadn't done this, who knows what would be happening at this very moment. But whatever it was, it wouldn't be this. It wouldn't involve so much crying, so much heartache. She wouldn't have to be hearing that word…and she definitely wouldn't have been associating it with Cameron.

She had everything she wanted to say ready. It was there.

Suddenly, she just couldn't get it out.

But given the way that Jonathan was staring at her, the words must have found their way onto her face somehow. Or maybe it was all was just sinking in. Maybe he was just realizing it all, because with every passing moment, he was weakening more and more. His expression was becoming more wrought with the horror and guilt that Kay had faced every single day she had been with Cameron and he had not. He was going pale. Still not as pale as Cameron. "You have to let me see him!" he begged. Kay just looked at him with a horrible kind of disappointment. It was only making him worse. "At least a phone call— let me call him! Let me talk to him!  _I have to talk to him!"_  He was crying. Trying not to let the tears fall as he glowered instead, but very soon he would be failing. " _Please!_ He's my  _brother_ , I have to see him!"

She was too tired.

She wanted to be with Cameron. She wanted to make sure he was okay.

Which was why when the door clicked and opened, it was nothing short of a miracle.

Deakins came into the interrogation room, her expression already somber. And she only sobered more once she saw the two, and the state that they were both in. Her eyes flashed when they rested on Jonathan. She looked to Kay, and the other immediately looked away with a tiny cough, reaching up to wipe at her eyes, just as uselessly as before. Deakins was silent as she took all of this in. Despite it all, she was as calm as ever when she eventually spoke. "Kay, I think I can take it from here." Her voice was unnaturally soft. Quieter, than usual. When Kay looked at her, she could see her lips were slightly pursed, and her expression only betraying the tiniest of strains.

Out of habit, she began to object. "I can stay." She  _did_ want to. She knew leaving Deakins to handle this situation would be leaving the situation in good enough hands. But at the same time, if she left, she would just be wondering what was happening, or what was being decided in the meantime. She wanted to know what was on that USB. Whether or not it was worth destroying Cameron over, because that was what it had taken to get it sitting on this table. Yet she couldn't get Cameron out of her head. If part of her wanted to stay, the part that wanted to rush to him was greater. Even if he wouldn't take her, which she was sure he wouldn't, she just wanted to know he was okay. She wanted to at least see him.

Deakins must have understood this. Everyone knew about Cameron. Everyone asked her about him on a daily basis. Mike was a fountain of questions, all day long. Asking if he was okay, if he had slept any, if he'd eaten or if any other remote progress was to be found. Kay was almost positive that everyone was planning a welcome back party for him behind her back, whenever it was he did finally come back in. Deakins had not been one of these people that hounded her for answers. But she did care. She showed that with the case files the other day. And she was showing it now, in the tiniest of looks, as her eyes softened in something close to pain. "You don't need to do anything more, Kay. Not here," she pressed. "You can do more elsewhere."

Jonathan was looking between the two of them in silence, but with this he looked at Kay hollowly. Still with that harrowing guilt, but now with confusion as well. And silent desperation, as if she would take him along with her.

"I…" She fumbled with her words. "You don't have to," she managed. "I can—"

"Go," she urged, a finality now in her tone that warned against further argument. Kay wasn't sure whether she was weak with relief or weak with sorrow when her superior insisted: "You've done enough. Go be with Cameron."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was only thanks to Dina and Jordan that Kay was allowed back into the Archive. This entire time, Gunter had been less than welcoming of Kay, but now he wanted absolutely nothing to do with her. The very moment she knocked, she could hear the fighting. And when the door was open, Gunter only stayed in the room long enough to fix her with a scathing glare before he turned and went upstairs. Apparently he couldn't even stomach the mere sight of her.

They met her with questions. Demanding to know what Jonathan had said, where he had been, what was going to happen, and so on. Most of them, she hadn't been able to answer. All she could give really was the fact he had the USB— not that she had been able to see the actual stuff that was on it. At the news, there was only silence. No celebration, but no disapproval either. Just…silence. They'd exchanged a look, but both their expressions had been so conflicted, there was nothing to be gained from it. She'd told them Deakins had taken everything from her and would continue to take it from here on out. It had been an offer made out of kindness but business as well— it was clear Kay was too emotionally attached to this case to handle it professionally. However, she was certain that she would be given updates. If not from her, then certainly from Mike, as he was certain to get up to speed on every little detail.

Then it had been her turn to ask questions. They'd given her their answers softly, and with trepidation. But they hadn't had much to give, either.

He was like he used to be, when she peered into Jonathan's room. Suddenly, it felt like she'd been dragged back in time to when he first got home, and he would spend every single day, not just the bad ones, hidden underneath the blankets like a turtle taking refuge in its shell. When he would refuse to speak to anyone, and just try not to show too plainly he was crying. The pain it inflicted to see him like that again now was enough to take her breath away at once.

They had come so far… _he_  had come so far, and now what? Was it all for nothing?

"Cameron?" He didn't react much to her call. There was only the tiniest of shifts— most likely only to pull the blanket tighter around himself. She took it as an invitation in, even if it was probably anything but. Though she walked slowly, and her hands clenched in front of her as she did. "Are you okay?" she breathed.

She could barely hear him. His voice was dull and lifeless. "Did you take him back?"

"No." She stopped once she reached the bed and hesitated for a long moment before she took a seat on its very edge. She could see Cameron's face now in the dark, and she saw his eyes flicker over to her briefly when she did sit. "Deakins…is handling it from now on. He's in the FBI's custody; he's not going to go anywhere." Cameron looked back front. The expression on his face was so desolate she was almost certain it couldn't possibly be his. "I'm sorry you had to answer the door," she murmured after a moment, just because there were so many things she was sorry for right now, and this was just the easiest to apologize for. He didn't bat an eye. "It would have been easier if one of us did. It could have gone over better."

He said nothing.

She swallowed back the lump in her throat so she could go on. "And…Cameron, I can't… _tell_  you how sorry I am for what I did, either." It looked like Cameron was going to argue again, so she rushed on before he had the chance to. She just had to get this out first. "I wasn't thinking, and it was wrong of me, and you had every right to push me away. I don't blame you at all. And I respect your decision— I wouldn't ever try and do anything you didn't want me to. It's fine if you don't…want anything. I just want you to be happy, and if that's what will help you be happier, then it's perfectly okay. I don't mind at all. I just want what's best for you."

Cameron continued staring straight ahead, but she saw his expression become strained the more she had to address the issue. She hesitated before she continued, moving on because she knew he likely didn't want to talk about it at all anymore. "But…you can't  _keep_ pushing me away. Like  _this._ Pushing  _all of us_  away." Her voice grew injured, and when his eyes flickered back to her, she saw that they were just as raw with pain. "I understand how hard it is. I understand it's only getting harder. But it hurts when we see you hurting, and we can't do anything about it. It hurts when we can't help." She wilted, and pressed even softer: "You're not alone, Cameron. You don't have to go through all of this alone. You just have to let some of us in."

He was still unresponsive. She could see everything on his face, though.

"…It's okay not to be okay, Cameron," she dared to press.

He stiffened when she said this. His eyes rounded out just a fraction, and they flashed with some kind of emotion she wasn't sure she was familiar enough with to distinguish. For a very long time he wasn't able to say anything. He just stared at the opposite wall with that strange look on his face. When he did speak, it was something completely different. Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe the hollowness in his voice spoke more volumes than she thought. "What's going to happen now?"

She hesitated. "I'm not sure."

"…Did he have a plan?" She could hardly hear this one, it was so quiet. So frightened of what the answer would be.

Her chest tore. She had to look away from him, down to her hands. "I don't think so," she rasped eventually. He closed his eyes tightly. A cringe started to set itself over his face. "He said he came back because you changed his mind. He said…something about voicemails." She knew Cameron had tried to call him— she hadn't known he'd left messages. But the look on his face made her certain he knew exactly what she was talking about. He pulled the blanket up over his nose.

His growing disappointment was already overwhelming. Kay felt awful, seeing him crumble like this. She knew that despite everything…despite all the evidence they had, despite all that had happened because of him and all that Cameron had said recently,  _some_  part of him had still been clinging to the idea that it all wasn't true. That Jonathan was still his brother. Still all that he remembered. Not someone who would abandon him or leave him behind. This was the final nail in the coffin, which finally took that away from him. She could see that hope he'd kept desperate hold of this entire time begin to slip away. Fall through his fingers like sand.

And even though she was furious at Jonathan…even though she knew that no possible reason he'd had of leaving would  _ever_  make what had happened right…Kay couldn't bear to see this look on Cameron's face. She had to try and help, in any way that she could. So she offered the only thing she could think of that might help. Or, if not help, then just make the tiniest bit of difference. "He had…all the evidence that proves he's innocent," she murmured. She watched Cameron carefully, and she didn't mistake the fact that he went rigid. He opened his eyes again, and the blanket inched down off his mouth. "He said…it wasn't the reason why he left at first. But…he  _did_ get it."

Cameron's eyes were wide. Quietly, he whispered: "He got the flash drive?"

Her throat was too hot to actually reply. So she just nodded.

He sat with this information for a moment, like it was given to him in another language and in order to react to it, he had to first translate. Once he did, his eyes started to brighten. He began to smile, weakly at first, but getting surer the more it grew. Kay was silent, her heart twisting as, just for a moment, he was the old Cameron. As he lit up with happiness, and laughter even began to bubble up from the back of his throat. He looked so relieved, and ecstatic. Truly happy, and so painfully  _himself._ Kay watched, clinging to this tiny flash of what he had been before this whole thing started. Feeling like someone was stabbing her as she watched him beam like he always used to.

It hurt immensely. But it was  _nothing_  compared to how bad it hurt when the inevitable came.

When his laughs got thicker and his breathing hitched. When his smile got too wide, because he was struggling to keep it on. When he started to duck his head down and push it more into the pillow. When he closed his eyes and his expression broke into a deep cringe. When he wasn't laughing anymore, and suddenly he was crying instead. He was trying not to, she could tell, but he couldn't help it and eventually he was just sobbing, staggering underneath the weight of everything he had been trying to keep up this entire time.

Kay had to fight not to flinch away. She had to make a conscious effort not to blink, so that her own tears might have less of a chance of falling. She didn't say anything at all. She knew that, right now, there was nothing  _to_ say. But she also knew she couldn't leave. She knew she didn't want to. So, keeping silent, she just reached out and put a hand gently on Cameron's shoulder, only applying the tiniest of pressures so that he would know she was there and nothing else. She waited for him to shake her off or tell her to leave. He didn't do either. He just kept crying, the only sound being his sharp gasps and sniffles. They seemed to fill up the entire room. Oppressive and horrible to listen to.

But still, she stayed. She would stay as long as he allowed her to.

And she would let him cry, in the hopes that maybe this time, when it was over, he'd feel just the smallest bit better.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Whenever there's a problem, your natural instinct is to ignore it.

The attempt can be short-lived. Minuscule. Like when you break a vase. You turn around too quickly, you bump against the table too hard. And you hear that crack – the shatter – and instantly, you know what's happened. You know exactly what the sound was, and why it was there. But at the same time…you hesitate before you turn. For a split second, despite the fact that you know it's not true, you think that if you just don't look at the mess, it might not exist. So you stand there in hesitation, even in just that couple of seconds, trying to deny the facts as they are and thinking that's enough.

Or it can stretch out. You wake up one day feeling awful, like your stomach is about to burst. But you don't want to go to the doctor out of the simple fear that there actually  _is_  an issue. Every day you feel worse, and you  _know_ it plainly. But you still deny it. You ignore it and ignore it, until eventually you're in a hospital bed with all the physicians commenting that had you just come in  _sooner_ , this all could have been avoided. But you didn't  _want_ to acknowledge it sooner. Acknowledging it sooner is facing the problem sooner. And you don't want to do that.

The longer a person can stay in denial, the happier they are.

So that's what was happening now.

Not that they haven't been in denial this entire time. Not that they hadn't been trying to take this whole situation and stuff it away out of sight ever since it fell into their laps. But now it was even worse. Now it was more apparent. Now, you could practically  _feel_ the tension in the air— you could feel the weight of what everyone wasn't saying. The situation that everyone was tiptoeing around. You could see it in everyone's eyes. In the darkened TV screens and the powered-down laptops. In the drawn windows, and the locked doors. The team had done their best to isolate the Archive from the rest of the world. To make it so that a protective bubble was around it and nothing else could get in, no matter how hard it tried.

He wasn't stupid. He saw all of this.

He saw the way everyone looked at him. He saw that when he did get up in the morning and go out to the kitchen, there was no newspaper to be seen. He saw the way Gunter and Jordan glared at each other like they were both fit to kill the other at any possible second. He saw the sadness in Dina's eyes when she thought he wasn't paying any attention. He heard the way everyone stopped talking the second he entered the room. He noticed that Kay didn't come back, and that Gunter was clearly happy about this. So much so that it wasn't a difficult leap to wonder if he was the one keeping her away.

Cameron noticed all of it. But maybe at this point it was just too far gone.

He didn't care.

Or…maybe it wasn't that he  _didn't_  care. Maybe it was just that he  _couldn't._

Which one was worse?  _Was_ one worse than the other? Did it matter? Not a whole lot did, anymore.

The bottom line was nobody else was bringing up Jonathan. And he was tired of fighting.

It was good that Kay didn't come back. He didn't know what to say to her, and just looking at her now hurt like hell. And he was tired of hurting, too. And it was good that everyone stopped talking when he walked into the room— he didn't want to talk. He just stopped trying in the first place. He just stayed in his room. It was too much to get around, anyway. And it was good that nobody told him what was happening with Jonathan, or that Jonathan didn't try to contact him, because it was just easier this way. He didn't know what he would say, and just the attempt of thinking about everything and trying to organize his feelings made him feel sick enough to vomit. That wasn't even touching on the horrible feeling he got when he realized how pathetic he must have seemed to his brother with that whole coming back situation.

It was all easier, and it was all better like this. Cameron preferred it. Pretending nothing was happening. Pretending that it was all fine and all that existed were the four walls of a room that wasn't even his. He wasn't ignorant. He knew exactly what was happening…what the team was trying to protect him from even though at this point it didn't matter. The fact that Gunter was likely barring Kay from coming back. The fact that each time he got up and shut his door, it would inexplicably be cracked open again not thirty minutes later— a fact he grew to just accept because eventually walking the five feet to the door was too imposing a task. He knew the team was worried, and he knew their concern only mounted with each passing day he refused everything from eating to speaking.

He knew all of it. It just wasn't important.

If he didn't look at the mess, maybe it wouldn't be there. Maybe the vase was still intact despite the crashing.

Denial was easier. He'd take it any day of the week. Anyone would. Anyone  _smart_.

Mind over matter, and it  _didn't even_  matter.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

The atmosphere in the kitchen was so tense you could run straight into it, like a brick wall. Dina was leaning back against the sink and Jordan was leaning against the counter opposite. Gunter was sitting at the table, pretending to read a book. Nobody had spoken all morning. Not even a tiny 'hello.' She pressed her lips together tightly and she glanced down at the floor, allowing herself a moment of hesitation. But her mind was made up, and her voice was sure and flat when she did speak. The other two stiffened at the unexpected bravery it took in breaking the long-held silence. "Kay called again this morning," Dina announced, and she wasn't blind to Gunter's immediate frown. She continued on, quickly, so he didn't have the time to interrupt. "She gave me an update. She asked if she could come and see Cameron, and—"

"She's treating him like a  _child_ ," Gunter growled. Dina gritted her teeth, trying not to make too harsh a face. He didn't look up from his book and he flipped to the next page with much more force than was actually necessary. "Or a  _dog_ ," he continued. "Like he's some sideshow she can walk in and stare at whenever she—"

" _Stop it,"_ Dina snapped at once. Usually her fuse was pretty long. The longest in comparison of the group, that is. But these days it was running much shorter. Everyone's was. Her expression was already strained, and her voice was already barbed. "You  _know_ that's not why she asked. You should feel bad she feels like she has to ask at all! She shouldn't! She's the reason Cameron is out of jail in the first place, Gunter— you  _know_ without a doubt that if she hadn't gone there that day and found him, he would still be in there and—" She broke off and shook her head, not able to quite finish the thought. She went on, regaining her edge. "And out of all of us she's helped Cameron the most, too— it's ridiculous she feels like she has to ask, and it's ridiculous  _you're_ the reason she does!"

"It's not like Cameron wants to see her!" Gunter snapped, closing his book now. She glowered, but said nothing, leaving him the space to continue. He met her poisonous stare head-on. "Not after what she did! Are you really going to defend her? After what she did that night she was supposed to be making sure he was alright!?" Dina rolled her eyes and glared uncomfortably off to the side. "Cameron was worlds better, he was almost back to normal, and she undoes all of that in less than five minutes! When she should know better than anyone else what  _not_ to do!"

"Are you angry about  _that_? Or are you angry about the way she treated  _Jonathan_?" Dina demanded scathingly, looking back to him.

He jerked, like the question was a slap. His forehead creased. "And what's that supposed to mean?" he growled after a pause.

"You know exactly what it means, Gunter," Dina flashed. "It's not fair to Cameron for you to tell Kay she's not welcome here when you're not even—"

"Not even what!? You think I'm not worried about Cameron!?" he demanded. Dina was shaking her head, but the damage had been done. "Of course I'm worried about Cameron, how could I not be!? He's practically half the weight he was before he left! He can't sleep for five minutes without waking up screaming— he  _still_ refuses to eat anything! You think I see all of that and don't care!? The reason he's like this is because of Kay! Because of the whole FBI!"

"I don't remember the FBI knocking him out and leaving him stranded in prison," Jordan grumbled.

Gunter whirled to turn his glare on him, and he opened his mouth, clearly ready to snap at him like he'd just snapped at Dina. When she cut him off immediately with a soft but thorn-sharp hiss. "Stop,  _stop!"_  And it was the urgency in her voice, familiar by this point, that made both Gunter and Jordan alike turn switches, like nothing had even happened. Gunter's head snapped back down to the book in front of him as he yanked it open to a random page, and Jordan had just enough time to craft a smile onto his face before Cameron walked in. It was miracle Dina had heard him in time, though she wasn't sure on whether or not he'd been able to hear Gunter from down the hall. He had a particularly loud voice. All the same, she greeted him with a warm smile, and an even warmer: "Good morning, Cameron."

He blinked, his eyes flickering between the three of them. Dina couldn't figure out the look on his face— it was completely blank, and yet at the same time, it was far too clouded with emotion. She didn't stop very long to figure out what it was— her worries were instantly drawn to everything else about him instead. His eyes were red and irritated, and it was almost too difficult to tell whether there were bags underneath them, or just more of his bruises, they were so dark.

Cameron said nothing, so Dina kept trying. "Do you want something to eat?" she offered, much too hopefully. Ever since the night with Kay, Cameron had eaten next to nothing. He'd probably had around five bites of something, and that number was being rather generous. Whenever Dina actually coerced him into getting something down, no matter how small a bite he took it seemed the equivalent of choking back a pill two sizes too big. And nine times out of ten, he would end up getting sick anyway, and all the effort would be for nothing.

But still. It had been so long. He couldn't keep not eating.

However, she got the answer she was expecting. "No." He gave up looking between everyone, apparently unsurprised at what he saw and unwilling to look at it for much longer. He started walking again, and everyone was painfully aware of how small and shuffling each step was. He reached out and held to the wall for as long as he could with his unfractured hand as he walked, like he was trying not to fall. He was certainly swaying enough to prove he was at risk of it.

Dina weakened. Her eyes tracked his every little move, and automatically, she began to follow. "Are you sure?" she pressed. "I could…I could make some waffles!" Those were always his favorite. He would layer about a pound of syrup on top of them and pour nearly half a bag of powdered sugar on top too. He never turned them down. It wasn't the best option, but it was certainly one to take. Unhealthy as it was, it would at least be  _something_. Something other than…

Her hopes were dashed when Cameron went where she was dreading. He walked past the kitchen, to the coffee machine. She closed her eyes briefly and glanced back at the other two, but they were just as frustrated as she was. She looked back and took in a quick breath before she tried to intervene. Cameron hadn't been able to eat anything lately, but what he  _did_  get down was coffee. Coffee and those little bottles of 5-hour Energies that he'd swiped from the kitchen at some point. Dina had no idea where he'd put them, but she had seen a couple of the empty bottles on his bedside table the last time she'd gone into his room.

He was trying to avoid sleep. Which they should have seen coming.

"Cameron…did you sleep at all last night?" she prodded gently, her hands clasping tight in front of her.

His answer was just as short as it was before. And it was exactly the same. "No." He started to make a cup, his eyes dull and exhausted as he watched the liquid gradually rise up to the brim.

Dina took a tiny step closer. "Well— Cameron, maybe…don't have any more coffee right now, then," she tried. He didn't even react. "You can go back to bed— we'll be quiet. You can get a couple of hours at least…" She knew noise wasn't the issue at all. It was a miracle if  _anyone_ said anything these days. This was probably the perfect place right now to sleep, simply because it was so dead silent. Cameron said nothing and just kept watching the coffee pour out. Her eyes flickered from him to the cup, a frown worrying her features when she saw that it was getting pretty full. "Cameron?" He still didn't even blink. It was like he was frozen. His stare wasn't focused. "Cameron!"

The instant she yelled his name, the coffee spilled out over the top and splashed down over his hand. His eyes flooded with intelligence again and he stiffened in pain. He jerked back and dropped the cup entirely, making it spill everywhere. Dina wasn't even paying attention to the mess, though; she rushed forward as Cameron pulled his hand up to his chest, hunching over with a hard flinch. "Cameron, are you okay?" He staggered and she reached out to hold his shoulders, trying to make sure he didn't fall. He didn't answer— he only cringed. She shook her head, feeling frustration like a choke-hold around her neck. "Cameron…you need to sleep," she pleaded. Already, he was shaking his head. "You haven't slept in ages, Cameron, it's not healthy for you."

"No, it's  _not_." Dina drew back at the reply that didn't really make a lot of sense. By definition, it sounded an agreement. But the words were barbed and irritated, like it was supposed to be an argument instead. Like he really meant 'No, it's  _not_  not healthy.' He cringed again, blearily, but he started to straighten, clenching his hand in pain and trying to get all the hot coffee off it. Dina helped, taking off her jacket and letting him wipe it away. The skin was bright red, but Cameron didn't seem concerned about it at all. In fact, after he got it all off rather roughly, he just turned back and started to make another cup. That dulled-over look was back on his face. "M'fine," he mumbled. "I don't need to sleep."

She hesitated only briefly before her eyes narrowed and she forced herself to grow a little sterner. It physically hurt her to be harder on him when he was like this. But at the same time, there had to be a line somewhere. "Cameron. Sleep, or food," she pressed. He closed his eyes and grumbled something under his breath that she couldn't hear. He didn't stop making another cup. " _Sleep._  Or food," she repeated, harder this time. "You're going to have to pick one."

His eyes flashed. By now he had the cup and it was clear that all he wanted to do was withdraw again. There was no telling when he would come back out once he did retreat. So when he started to turn and head unsteadily back the way he'd come, Dina was already moving to stand in his way. However, the very moment she started to attempt, he spoke first. His voice was lifeless and flat, but still somehow saturated with bitterness. He lifted his exhausted gaze to hers, and the second he spoke, everything she was prepared to say fell away immediately. She was rendered completely mute.

"What are you gonna do?" he asked, his voice dead. " _Force_ me?"

He may as well have smacked her. She jerked backwards, blinking fast as she just stared at him. She tried to get something out, but under his stare it wasn't possible. He raised his eyebrows, like he was daring her to try. But at the same time, underneath the anger he was wearing like armor, was bone-shaking sorrow and defeat. In the face of that, she didn't know what to do. Which was just what Cameron knew would happen, apparently. When he brushed by her to head back down the hall, she just stepped aside to make sure she didn't bump into him. She didn't try and call after him. She didn't even watch him go.

She just stared straight ahead, hollow and disheartened.

Feeling Gunter and Jordan staring at her, but not knowing what to say.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was starting to feel sick. And not just when he got up anymore— he felt sick all the time. Usually part of the reason why he stayed in bed, other than just avoiding the constant fighting or glaring or awkwardness that took place outside, was because whenever he had to walk his head would spin and his stomach would heave. Like his body was too conflicted on whether it wanted to collapse or whether it wanted to vomit, so it was just lingering somewhere in the gray area between. Usually as long as he laid down it was alright.

But now he felt that way even when he was in bed. It felt like the room was a top going around and around, and even when he closed his eyes to try and focus, his stomach still knotted with nausea. He was exhausted but he could never sleep. And the thought of eating almost made the threat of getting sick less of a threat and more of an actual thing. So he was trying to just stay in bed, not getting up for anything. The lights stayed off to keep his head from ringing. He'd closed the door to try and keep that light out too, but Dina's new goal in life was to make sure it was always cracked, so that was out the window. He was too weak to get up and fix it, so cracked it stayed.

Which was probably the main reason why he heard them.

"…ridiculous,  _no, this is ridiculous! And I'm going to say it! I know you're thinking it too, Dina!"_ Jordan sounded furious. Cameron cringed blearily when he did, but he turned his head over towards the door.  _"This is stupid! And he can't come back here!"_

"Jordan…" Dina's voice was quieter. She was trying to diffuse the situation. The rest of it was lost.

" _No— did the judge even see Cameron!? If he could see Cameron—"_

" _It's not about Cameron!"_ He could hear Gunter yelling.  _"Not this part! You—"_

" _Did you just say this_ isn't  _about Cameron!?"_ Jordan burst.  _"You've_  got _to be kidding me! I thought you didn't care before but now it's just obvious you—"_

" _We're not talking about the other half, we're talking about—"_

" _You_ can't _talk about one without the other!"_ Jordan snapped.  _"He deserves to stay in prison because of what_ he _had happen to Cameron! Bottom line! He deserves to go right back where he was! He deserves to get what happened to him, tenfold!"_

"Don't say that…" Dina interjected.

Cameron swallowed a little thickly as he slowly picked his head up off the pillow. Immediately, he was dizzy, and had to stop and breathe through a wave of nausea. He waited for it to pass, and it didn't really, but it passed  _enough,_ so he wormed out from underneath the covers and forced himself up to his feet. The process was slow, and he had to pause multiple times. A bad taste was on the back of his tongue by the time he was shuffling towards the door. The hallway was rocking back and forth and the walls looked like they were shaking by this point, but he just continued to do what he'd been doing this entire time: he was ignoring it.

He opened the door and started to follow the voices, having to walk along with his hand against the wall to try and make sure he didn't stumble. Which he did a couple of times. He listened to the fighting, which got louder the closer he got. Jordan was yelling about how unfair it was, and Gunter was snapping that he should be happy, and that everything he was saying was irrelevant. "They're not talking about anything else, they're just saying the evidence that's there is enough to prove—"

Jordan wasn't letting him finish. "He betrayed Cameron and he betrayed  _us_!" he spat. "There's no coming back from that! There  _shouldn't_ be any coming back from that! He can't come back here! If the evidence  _is_  taken, and if somehow he  _is_ let off for literally  _trapping Cameron in prison and ruining his entire life,_ then he shouldn't be allowed back here! You shouldn't _want_ him here!"

Cameron was staggering more and more. He was getting closer, but the second he actually rounded the corner he had to stop. He gripped the wall and grimaced hard, his swaying too severe to keep walking. His heart was picking up in his ears, and it was making everything harder to hear. This was the most he'd heard mention of Jonathan this entire time. And it was  _this_. He looked up and had to blink to try and steady his vision. The three of them were standing around the table a ways away from him. Jordan and Gunter looked about two seconds away from breaking out into an actual fight. Dina was tense and trying to settle them down, like she usually was. He tried to get his feet to move more, but suddenly everything was rocking too much.

"He's done so much for us, he's our  _friend_!"

"We  _thought_ he was! But newsflash, Gunter: friends don't get friends—!"

"That's  _enough_!" Dina snapped. "Nothing's been decided yet! So instead of fighting like a pair of  _idiots_ , how about we figure out what we're going to tell Cam—!" Dina finally caught sight of Cameron, who had hardly gotten around the wall from the hallway. Her eyes widened at the state he was in, and she immediately forgot what all they were talking about. "Cameron! Darling, are you alright!? What are you doing up!?" Cameron couldn't reply— suddenly he was winded, like he'd just sprinted two miles instead of just having walked a little bit down the hall. He was trying to open his mouth, trying to formulate words and ask them what was happening. But his tongue wouldn't listen. His head wouldn't clear enough to accomplish the task.

"'s…is he…?" He grimaced. He was seeing spots. He shouldn't have gotten up like this. He shouldn't have walked this far. His heartbeat was too loud, too fast. Why was it so fast? "Is Jonathan…?"

"Cameron, you need to lay back down," Dina objected. She withdrew from the others to make her way over to him. Once she realized how severe his swaying was, she quickened her pace and started to reach out as if to catch him. There was a world of regret on her face, but he was too distracted to notice. He was too distracted to notice much of anything, really. His head was ducked and he didn't have the strength to pick it back up. His left knee was starting to buckle, and he tried to hold onto the wall more. But that was slipping, too. He was dizzy. He was just so dizzy… Dina started to run, her eyes flying wide. "Cameron!"

He still tried to speak. Communicate. "'s…Johnny…?"

He couldn't finish. The black spots were turning into blobs which were slowly taking up his entire line of sight. The room must have tilted a little bit too much to one side because he couldn't hold to the wall anymore, and he fell away from it. His right knee followed the lead of his left and they both refused to lock. His eyes rolled back into his head before they closed, and Cameron started to fall. The last thing he heard was Dina's voice puncturing into a scream of alarm.

At least this time, he didn't have to feel it when he hit the ground.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When he came back to, he was lying on his side.

It took a second for him to drag himself awake in the first place.

When he did, it took even longer for him to get his bearings.

At first he tensed and locked up. His breathing, which had been slow and regularized up until this point, tightened into a much sharper gasp. But he wasn't laying on the ground, he was back in bed. The soft comfort of a blanket was wrapped around him, and when he jerked, his hands were free and unbound. He blinked fast, flinching once the pain in his head came back to hit him full-force. It was accompanied with a sickening pull in the pit of his stomach and his gasp decayed away into a groan of pain.

"Cameron?" He blinked groggily and looked up to realize Dina was hovering next to the bed anxiously. Her expression was filled with enough worry to fill two swimming pools. But when he looked at her and actually zeroed in, she deflated with the tiniest hint of relief. "Cameron, darling," she breathed, rushing over before he could stop her and doing something to his hair. She tended to do that when she was freaking out. Or when she was fussing. Sometimes when she just wanted to annoy him. Though it was probably a better bet to guess the first two were more of the focus right now. He grimaced as his head rung with pain, and her eyes flooded with something similar. "Are you alright? You fainted…"

Cameron kept his eyes closed, finding that it hurt just a little bit less when he did. His voice was nothing but a mumble when he replied. "I'm…fine."

"You're  _not_ ," Dina objected at once. Though she sounded more than upset, there was a hardness she was attempting to keep to her voice as well. "Cameron, look at me." He did, but with clear reluctance. She frowned and knelt so that she could rest a hand gently on his cheek. She couldn't possibly ignore how prominent the bone was, there. Still, she wasn't that great at hiding it when her voice lost about half its sternness. "Cameron…you can't keep doing this," she pleaded gently. He tried to move out of her grip, but he felt like he weighed a million pounds. "I know you're upset, darling, I know it's hard…but you  _have_ to eat. Just  _something_.  _Anything_."

He didn't say anything. He felt like he was going to get sick.

"I know you don't want to, Cameron, but if you just eat  _a little bit_ , you'll feel better."

"Wh're's…Gunter and Jordan?" he mumbled.

Dina sighed and seemed to deflate in disappointment. All the same, she did answer. "They're gone. For right now." The look on her face was unbelievably strained. For the first time, it really dawned on Cameron how tired  _she_ looked. And how stressed she seemed. She looked like she hadn't slept a decent night in weeks. Like she was running on a battery that was at five percent. "They…can't be around each other. Or around…" Her eyes flashed awkwardly and she just coughed, instead of actually finishing the thought. She shook her head and ended a little lamely: "I just asked them to leave. For a little while."

Cameron stared at her, and the pit in his stomach just opened wider. The look on his face was still a little fuzzy, but it was slowly fading into something too close to remorse. Dina watched, heartbroken, but the heartbreak was only tripled when Cameron spoke. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He ignored the fact that she was shaking her head. He knew she would— it just didn't matter. "No, I'm sorry— this is happening, I'm ruining everything, I—"

"Cameron, stop." He closed his eyes when he started to feel them burn. He turned so that he could lay on his back instead, so he was facing away from her. She went on anyway, her voice a little choked. "You didn't do anything, Cameron— it's not your fault they can't control themselves. And you don't need any of…that when you're just trying to  _recover_. You don't need to feel like anything is your fault, or that you're to be blamed for anything going on. We're just…we're just all stressed out, right now. They needed some time apart, and away. Time is just what I gave them. It's got nothing to do with you."

Cameron refused to open his eyes. The sick look on his face said everything he didn't.

Dina cleared her throat and asked again, a little softer: "Cameron… _please_. Eat something."

Frustration burned underneath his skin. At practically everything. At the fact that he was being ridiculous, and he  _knew_ it. But at the same time, he couldn't do anything against it. At the fact that he was the reason the team was fighting, and now they were all split up. That he still had no idea what was happening with his brother, and he still didn't even know himself whether or not he  _wanted_ to. Whether he could  _handle_ knowing, which was absolutely pathetic. And maybe that was just the best thing to say: he was frustrated that he was so pathetic. That he couldn't change that.

And that his reply, which came out in the form of a clenched sob, was one hundred percent true.

"I  _can't_."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

There was a tiny, knock before she came inside. Her steps were just as reluctant— quiet, in their hesitation. But she came in all the same. Cameron didn't even have to turn to see who it was. He just knew immediately. All he said, very quietly, was: "I guess you're allowed to be back here, now."

There was a pause, before: "Is that okay?"

He wasn't sure how to answer. By this point, he was pretty sure the damage had already been done when it came to her. Kay had seen more than he wanted anyone else to. She already knew how awful he was— there wasn't be any possible way he could hurt himself even more in her eyes, right? But then again, the universe had taken it upon itself to personally ensure every little thing went wrong for him lately, so he was more than prepared to see how it would twist this one, too. There was a saying that went something like: 'There's nowhere to go but up from here.' He was fairly certain that his version was now officially: 'There's nowhere to go but down!'

"It's fine," he settled on. There was a tiny beat of silence. And in this silence, where neither of them knew what to say, Cameron realized something else. Something smelled different, and he turned to see what she was holding. Immediately, he closed his eyes and turned back. "Kay, no," he tried weakly. "I don't want to eat anything. It'll come right back up, and I'm tired of getting sick."

She looked at him with a heavy heart, and then down to the container in her hands. It was homemade soup— a recipe that her mom used to make whenever she got sick that she always used to say would do the trick for anyone. She'd made it in a vain hope that Cameron might like it enough to have more than a couple bites. Dina had told her he wasn't eating, but he looked even worse than she'd tried to brace herself for. And she had tried to force herself to think of the worst-case scenario. Somehow, her worst-case hadn't been severe enough. It ached just to look at him. "Dina says you haven't eaten in days," she tried, pained at the look that came over his face.

He didn't say anything. Kay took a few steps closer and sat down on the very edge of the bed, near him. Every movement was slow. Like she was worried it would set him off or something. He absolutely hated it. "Cameron, you're smarter than this," Kay began, picking her words carefully. Her voice was soft but it was imposing at the same time— staying firm and not leaving too much room to fight her. Not that he could. "You know you can't go forever without eating. You know at some point something's going to give. It's already  _starting_ to— you feel so sick and you fainted because you're taking in so little. It's only going to get worse if you keep on like this."

For a long moment he did nothing. Eventually, though, he turned his head and forced himself to look at her, ignoring the way his stomach seemed to fall away from him just by the simple shift. He looked at the mug she was holding, and felt the need to gag just at the sight of it. She was painfully aware of this, but kept trying to persuade him regardless. "I'll help you sit up." He felt a flash of self-consciousness at the offer. "And you can go slow…just a couple bites at a time." She paused, before he saw the tiniest smile tease itself over her lips. "You know, this is what my mom used to always make for me when I was sick. Maybe I can't make it as well as her, but…it always used to make me feel better."

Cameron wasn't listening to her as much as he was looking at her. The smile on her face was tiny and barely-there…it drew his attention, though, and kept hold of it. It made him remember the way she had looked after she'd first kissed him, and he hadn't pulled away. How brilliant her smile had been, and how ecstatic the simple action of staying close to her had made her. He felt like something was pressing down on his chest, and making it hard to breathe. He tried to get it out of his head. He tried to get  _her_ out of his head. His voice was a little too loud and a little too strained when he just asked: "What's happening with Jonathan?"

Which was almost something he didn't want the answer to. But it was the first alternative he could grab.

Kay blinked, and the smile fell away. Cameron was guilty at how much relief he felt because of it. She looked from him to the mug, torn. It only took her a couple of seconds, though, to spin it right back around on him. Which he should have seen coming, after how many times he'd seen her flip the tables on countless suspects. "I'll tell you when you eat," she proposed, and met his disgruntled look with an expectant one. At first he was debating just giving up and telling her to leave. But something told him that she would try and fight, and if that happened, he knew this feeling would just get worse.

He didn't want to eat. Anything. At all.

But he was also so tired of fighting.

He closed his eyes and started the effort to sit up. At once, Kay set the mug down on the bedside table and moved to help him. And he  _did_ need the help. His sides weren't thanking him at all for the change in position, and his head started spinning the very second it was lifted off the pillow. He couldn't really use his fractured hand to help push himself up, and when he did, a strained whimper died in the back of his throat. Kay shifted and made up for everything he couldn't do, easing him up and back so that he could sit against the headboard. He was short of breath just from that, feeling cold and hot at the same time as he sagged against the head of the bed and tried to get the room to stop spinning. Kay was watching him anxiously, severely worried at how bad he'd gotten. But she seemed to bite back on whatever she was going to say, and she just brought the soup back instead.

She took off the container lid that was keeping it warm, and stuck in the spoon she'd brought in from the kitchen. Some part of Cameron kept stubborn and wanted to grab the bowl from her. But with one fractured hand, he couldn't hold the bowl and the spoon at the same time. This registered when he looked down at it, and his face fell. The thought of not even being able to feed himself was mortifying.

Kay was studying him and didn't miss the reaction. She looked down at it as well, and wilted, trying to think. After a second, she moved so she could sit closer— so there were only a few inches between them. She just held the mug, leaving the spoon for him to manipulate. He blinked as she did, a little stiff at the proximity at first. But then he relaxed and shot her a look that was almost a silent means of thanks. And, reluctantly, he took hold of the spoon and took his first bite. It wasn't even a spoonful— it was probably just half of one, if that. But it was something, so Kay was washed with relief. He grimaced and practically choked down the liquid. The pained look on his face stayed a heartbeat or two as he looked at the bowl like it was filled with raw sewage. She was almost prepared for him to give up after just that, but she was surprised when he forced himself to take another bite.

Dina really hadn't been lying, then. It _was_ an issue. Kay hadn't been sure, but seeing it now, she could see how difficult it was for him to just eat. Every single swallow was a choke, and he always had to stop afterwards and stare for a few moments, like he was fighting to ensure it stayed down. Four bites passed – which took a much longer time than one would expect – before he looked at her and she realized she had to hold up her end of the bargain now. She cleared her throat and waited for him to spoon out a fifth one before she started.

"Deakins is handling it all," she began carefully. "And Mike is telling me what happens as it goes…"

"They're not letting you be involved?" Cameron rasped, looking up with a frown.

It was her turn to avert her eyes now. She coughed in the back of her throat. "I…can't be," she replied, her voice tight. "I…practically asked. It wouldn't be…I was too attached. To the whole thing. It wouldn't have been smart." Cameron blinked at this, his face falling. He stared at her for what felt like a very long time, before he just turned his attention back to eating. He took another bite, but this time it was hard to tell whether or not his cringe was because of the soup or because of what the implication was.

She went on before she could figure it out. "Deakins brought the evidence forward. It's…well, you know. It's enough— it proves that the woman was already dead when the car hit. That MW was the one pulling the strings, and she was fine. Jonathan didn't harm a single person in the crash. He can't be charged with a murder that never happened." She looked at his face to see his reaction, but there was nothing to see. He was just staring down at the mug hollowly. His face was blank. She wondered what he was thinking, but she knew she didn't have a right to ask.

She just kept going, with increasing difficulty. "The next step is…deciding what to do about…the rest of it." He looked at her with this, and there was no mistaking the alarm that flared across his face. She shook her head. "He escaped from prison. Typically that adds time  _onto_  your sentence. And it's even worse because…he stuck  _you_ there instead. Right now I think Deakins is just trying to bargain for the fact that the time he spent already should count for that. A…transfer of time. She— well, she assumed that that would be what you'd want. Jonathan getting out as soon as possible." Cameron still said nothing. She pressed a little unwillingly: "Do you…not want that anymore? Do you want to press charges?"

He still said nothing.

"Nobody would blame you if you did, Cameron."

He still didn't move. He was staring dully down at the food, holding the spoon mid-stir. It felt like years before he snapped out of it. Before he blinked fast and way too many times, shaking his head as if trying to clear it but regretting it when it caused his headache to scream. "N-No," he said in a rush. He readjusted his hold on the spoon and went back to getting out another bite. "No, I don't. Good. It's. No— it's good. This is good. Fine. I'm happy. This is what I wanted." Kay weakened, each of his words seeming too separate and tense to be truthful. He lifted the spoon up but didn't actually eat it yet. He just looked at it, like he wasn't sure what to do. "This is what I wanted," he repeated softly, and somehow she had to wonder if he was talking to her, or to himself. "This is good."

She said nothing. She just gave a tiny nod.

Cameron stayed stuck like that for quite some time. She wasn't about to interrupt him. Eventually, he eased back into motion and took another bite. This one came with much more trouble. For all his reaction, it might as well have been a bite of nails. It hurt her just to watch. But she still kept silent. Cameron said nothing, either. So it passed like that, in complete silence, Kay just keeping track of how much he actually got himself to eat. It never got easier. In fact, the longer he ate, the slower it went, and the more he flinched. He couldn't get the entire thing down. He ate until three quarters of it was gone, before he put the spoon down. His expression was sick and his voice was thick when he whispered: "I can't eat any more."

"That's okay," she reassured, just thankful he got down this much. If he  _kept_ it down, then next time he could be pushed to eat a little bit more. They couldn't jump right back into it when he'd gone without food for so long. It would be slow, but they would get there. They would get him healthier again. "Do you feel better at least? Less dizzy?" He didn't answer her, and she guessed that was an answer in it of itself. She bit down on her lower lip and nodded. Suddenly the air between them was too thick. Suddenly their proximity was too apparent. "Well, if you…need anything, I think I'm staying here tonight. To be with Dina." She didn't think she needed that last part, but it came out anyway for some reason. "We might…watch a movie later. With popcorn, if you wanted…?"

Cameron wasn't looking at her. He seemed pained, and the question died before it could finish. Her shoulders slouched. She started to draw away. "Okay." The word was hollow. She stood up from the bed and righted the distance between them. Cameron's face fell even more. She started for the door, figuring she'd done all she could, when she stopped, remembering at the last minute. "Oh. Cameron." She turned back, and was relieved he roused at this, at least. Or maybe she wasn't. Her stomach clenched a little when she started to broach: "There is…one thing. I…promised to ask."

He just blinked, staring at her.

"Jonathan…he's really worried about you." His eyes flashed at this. She was hurt to recognize that they flashed with surprise. "He wants to see you. He…won't stop asking about you. I told him that…you were too sick to go down and see him. And he can't come to you, of course. But he…" She sighed, shaking her head. "He won't stop asking if he can talk to you. If he can call you, I mean." Still, Cameron was mute. The dead space was just an invitation for her to go on. "You don't have to, Cameron. At all. Everyone would understand if you didn't want to. I tried to tell him no several times. Eventually…well, he wouldn't stop until I told him I would offer it to you. To give you the number you can call."

Call him…Cameron already  _had_ called him.  _Multiple_ times. He never answered, then.

What did he  _want_  from him?

"You can say no," Kay reassured. "I just told him I would ask, I didn't tell him anything more. In fact, I told him that he would be lucky if you agreed to it. You have every right to refuse it. This can be where it ends." It would be better if he said no. But if she'd never asked and just _said_ he refused, and if it somehow got back to him that she'd lied on his behalf… "It's up to you, Cameron. Everything is."

Cameron only blinked again. He didn't say anything.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Each ring tightened the noose around his neck. It seemed to echo in the room, which was now empty. Cameron's grip on Kay's phone was a death one, but his hand shook, betraying the supposed determination. He was still sitting up in bed. Kay had left ten minutes ago to give him privacy, and it had taken him that long to draw up enough courage to type in the numbers he'd been given. Every time before, when he'd been met with the voicemail, he was crushed. He could feel his chest yawn and ache with pain. He'd barely been able to stomach just listening to the words.

Now he was suddenly praying to be met with a recorded message.

But the universe was doing everything it could to make sure the opposite of what he wanted constantly happened. And it was doing a bang-up job. Because it was picked up. And it must have been established that this call was…well, what it was. Because the voice that met him was already Jonathan's. And he already knew who was on the other end of the line. "Cameron?" He sounded like he was a wreck. Which was saying something, because Jonathan never lost his cool. For some reason, he always prided himself on never being caught off-guard, or emotional. Something Cameron was never really interested in following suit with. But apparently even he wasn't interested, right about now. His voice was frayed and weak, and Cameron didn't like the ring in his voice when he said his name. But again, it came. "Cameron, are you there?" He said nothing, staring down at the blankets. His eyes already began to burn.  _"Cam!?"_

"Hey," he mumbled. It was all he got out.

But it was enough. "Cameron." His name was carried out in a relieved exhale. One that shook on its way out, in its unsteadiness. "You're…you're there— you actually called, I…"

A horrible kind of silence existed for way too long. The kind of silence when you weren't sure what to say, but you knew that there was about five million things you  _did_ need to get out. It was oppressive, and Cameron felt it like a brick on his lungs. He wasn't blinking, in the hopes it would help the water in his eyes reabsorb. He didn't want to talk because he was scared his voice would betray that. It was already so messed up, he didn't want it to be even worse. But eventually he mumbled: "I've called you before." Which probably wasn't the  _best_ response he could have given? But it was certainly  _a_ response, and it was certainly  _his_ , now.

He heard Jonathan give a heavier exhale. He sounded high-strung, and almost frantic. Cameron wondered what he looked like. He wondered where he was. Whose phone this was. Was it Deakins, and Kay had just texted her to hand it to Jonathan? Was he in the interrogation room still, or was he somewhere else? He wasn't at Rockland, was he? No. Kay promised him. Cameron closed his eyes tightly to try and banish the thought away, which was a mistake, because he felt the first tear trace its way down his cheek. He reached up and wiped it with his wrist, unable to use his hand. "Yeah, I— I know you did, Cam," Jonathan replied after a second. "I listened to every voicemail, I…"

_No, I don't want to talk to you._

Cameron swallowed hard. He couldn't have said anything even if he wanted to. And he didn't.

Jonathan went on. His voice sounded different, too. Was he crying? "Cameron, I can't…even  _begin_  to tell you how sorry I am." He closed his eyes and took the phone away from his ear just a little bit. Not enough to not be able to hear the words anymore. But enough so that they might hurt less when he  _did_ hear them. "I wasn't thinking, Cameron, I wasn't. When I— when I did that, I was playing into her hands. I was doing  _exactly_  what she wanted me to do, when I thought I was doing the opposite, I…" He took in another fast breath. "I wasn't thinking clearly, I wasn't…

" _We?"_

"And you don't have to forgive me, Cam," Jonathan went on, softer now. "I did something…completely horrible, to someone I should have known only had my best interests at heart. And someone I should have…understood I had more of a duty to." Cameron's lips were shaking. He cringed and this time he didn't bother wiping the tear away when it fell. He figured more would just replace it. "There's no excuse for what I did. There were so many other things I should have done, and  _any one of them_  would have been better than what— than what actually happened, it's…

_I don't believe you._

"She just…got into my head, she was feeding me everything I— everything I  _thought_ I wanted to hear, and she was just doing it to get  _this_ to happen. And I feel so stupid for letting her get to me like I did. For forgetting  _you_ , I just…" He sighed again. He was rambling. Jonathan never rambled— it was always Cameron that rambled. "She was telling me so many things that— when I got your first voicemail, and I listened to it, I stepped back, I saw that— some of it didn't make sense, none of the pieces lined up, I was just— and the fact that she—

_The answer's no._

"I just wish I could take it all back," he croaked eventually. The words seemed hollow. Like they could hit the floor and their thud would echo. Cameron was trying to remember how to breathe right. "I just wish I could take it all back, Cameron, I should have known what I was doing was wrong. I shouldn't have done that to you— I shouldn't have left you there, I— and the thing with Kay, that was wrong of me too. The entire thing. I shouldn't have done any of it. If I could go back and change it I would."

 _I don't want to escape with_ you.

Cameron's reply was a whisper. "…I wish I could too."

He wished he could take it all back. Everything. He wasn't sure what all that included.

There was a heavier silence, with this agreement. Jonathan was quieter when he spoke again. "I'm so sorry, Cam," he rasped. Cameron winced again, like he was causing him physical pain. "I'm  _so_ sorry. And you— you don't have to forgive me. You don't. I just— I just want to know you're okay." Cameron opened his eyes at the change in his voice when he said this. His heart froze, his stomach dropped, his vision blurred entirely. "I just want to know you're okay," Jonathan repeated, only making it worse.

Cameron was dead silent with this. It took a while for it to sink in. His eyes flickered to the door. His mouth went dry. He felt sick. When he spoke, after quite some time, his voice was barely anything at all. It hardly got out of his throat in the first place, and even when it did, it was thin and hollow, like it was fit to crumble on itself. "Did she tell you?" he practically whispered. He hardly heard  _himself._ It would be a miracle if Jonathan managed it.

At first he was sure he hadn't. There was silence on the other line. He couldn't even hear him breathe. And it stretched for so long, Cameron started to open his mouth to repeat the question, even though it had tasted bitter forcing it out the first time. When Jonathan suddenly spoke up and cut him off. His voice was completely blank. Almost as soft as his, though. "Tell me what?"

 _Take the out,_ some part of him pleaded.

The other part…was unfortunately a little more prominent. As it usually was.

_He knows he knows he knows she told him he knows she told him she he knows she told he knows—_

"Kay told you," he breathed. Not a question this time, but a statement.

Another pause. This one was shorter. "I don't…Cam, I don't know what you're talking about. Kay…she didn't tell me anything. Except that you…got hurt."

His face fell. He kept staring at the door, confused and unsure. He tore his gaze away just to stare down at his lap. He couldn't tell if it was a lie. If it was, did he  _want_ to know?  _Would_ she tell him? No. Of course not. Or maybe… "Okay." The singular word was small and defeated, as he just took the words at face value. For now. He was tired. Why did he keep coming back to that? He was tired…of fighting, of objecting, of _everything._ He was just tired. "I just meant…that…" He wasn't clever anymore. Couldn't find a way to talk around this, or shrug up some excuse on why he'd snapped. Eventually he gave up and just repeated dully: "Okay."

Again, that silence. He felt like he should say something but he couldn't manage it. He could hardly breathe.

"Cam…" He closed his eyes at the nickname. Which was stupid, because he couldn't see Jonathan as it  _was_ , so why was he hiding from him? But just like everything else that was stupid, he couldn't change it. Jonathan sounded even more strained now, if such a thing was even possible. "Cam, I just wanted to…" He took in a shaky sigh that came out just as unsteadily. He was definitely crying, or at least starting to, when he managed: "I don't hate you, Cameron."

It took a second to realize what he was addressing. That message seemed to have taken place years and years ago— a lifetime ago. He'd forgotten what he'd even said. But once he did, Cameron began to crumble, that deep-seated cringe crawling back over his face. It only got more severe the more Jonathan talked. "I've never hated you, Cameron. Never. Not once. All my life…you've been there for me, and I've been there for you, and that's the way it should have stayed. You pressured me to keep performing, but Cameron, I could have put my foot down more, it was my fault too. It wasn't all on you, and it was wrong of me to blame you for that, and it was wrong of me to…just do this whole fucking thing." The last phrase was exhaled in frustration and growing sorrow.

Cameron was crying. Silently, but violently. His shoulders shook and his head ducked down low. His throat was on fire as he held back his sobs, but it wasn't like it didn't always hurt anyway. It wasn't like he wasn't always crying. "I'm  _so_  sorry, Cameron," Jonathan repeated, a broken record. "And I'm sorry I made you think that, and it was just wrong of me to even give you the tiniest idea that I didn't…that I don't love you." Cameron's palm was going to be imprinted with the phone's edges, he was holding onto it so tight. At the sentiment, he only held tighter. His shoulders heaved. He couldn't say anything. The silence must have been making Jonathan even worse. His voice was weaker when he pressed: "I  _do_  love you. Cam. I love you  _so_  much."

Cameron was biting down hard on the inside of his lip. It wasn't long at all before he could taste blood. He tried to get his air back. To get himself composed somehow. This time, Jonathan gave him however long it would take. And it certainly took a long time. Before Cameron could even breathe in a way that would allow himself to speak. His voice was in pathetic pieces when it managed to worm its way out. He couldn't even offer anything good back. "Okay," he choked.

Jonathan said nothing at first. His voice was even more tearful when it came back. "I'm glad you're okay, Cam," he tried. Cameron said nothing. "I'm sorry I…" Silence. Then: "I'm just sorry." This barely got out— it broke at the end, into something akin to a sob.

It was all he could give. Those five letters.

What did they amount to? What did they take away? What did they  _do_?

The answer was always the same: Nothing.

Cameron squeezed his eyes shut, finding his breath hitching. His hands were beginning to shake. The taste of blood in his mouth was getting worse, or maybe he was just focusing on it too much, but all he knew was that he needed this to stop. He'd already gotten worked up once in front of Jonathan, he didn't want to do it over again. And he would. His thoughts were getting away from him, his heart was picking up too much. The whole  _thing_ was too much. "I have to go," he managed tearfully. "I can't— Dina needs me." A horrible lie, and a horribly-executed one. It was pretty transparent.

Jonathan didn't call him out on it. Maybe he just figured he owed him that much. "Yeah. Yeah, okay." Though he rushed to tack on before Cameron could hang up: "Thank you. Cameron. For calling me, I know I don't…I know I don't deserve it. I just…I'm worried about you. I want…to make sure you're okay. I want to try and…make this right, and I know I can't, but I just…" He trailed off. Either not sure how to finish, or just not wanting to.

Cameron could only get the same thing out. Short, and clenched in pain. "Okay."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She checked on him a few hours later. She knocked on his door, like she always did, and started in right after, like she always did. Another routine that she was somehow accustomed to after all this time. Kay saw that he was still sitting up in bed, and she opened her mouth to call out a greeting. When she stopped, her face falling. Cameron's head was ducked down low, and he was holding his injured hand up close to his chest. His breathing was punctured and escalated— she could hear it from where she stood. At first, she thought it was just hurting him. Until she realized the inverse was true.

 _He_ was hurting  _it._

He was holding it in his good hand, tightening his hold every so often to dig his nails down into the injured skin and flinching away from the agony it created. Immediately she forgot herself. She rushed in, her eyes wide as she turned on the light. "Cameron!?" He cringed away from the sudden brightness, looking irritated, not surprised. The same couldn't be said for her, as she stuttered to a bit of a stop. "You're— awake?" He looked at her oddly at the question, seeming just as confused. She shook her head, looking down and starting to reach for his fingers, to peel them away from his fractured hand. "If you're awake, why— you're hurting yourself, Cameron, you can't—"

"Stop.  _Stop!"_  he snapped, yanking his arms back and tucking them up to his chest when she tried pulling on them. His eyes were raw with the pain that was still lingering, but he also eyed her crossly, like she was the issue, not him. "I'm  _fine_." Her eyes narrowed, but he ignored her. He looked down and, trying to focus on anything else, he messed with his blankets to straighten them out. "I was just keeping myself up," he grumbled.

Her confusion melted. As did her defensiveness. "Keeping yourself up?" she echoed. He didn't react, but she knew she'd heard him right the first time. She watched him fuss with his covers, and her face began to become crestfallen. "So you don't sleep?" Again, he was silent. His lips pressed a little tighter together. She hesitated and continued to watch him fix something that wasn't out of order. Her eyes flickered to the phone that was now on the bedside table. "How did…your talk with Jonathan go?" she asked. Had something happened? Something that upset him enough to—?

It was like he could read her thoughts. "It doesn't matter. It's not important."

She wasn't so sure. She looked at him carefully, frowning. "What did he say?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Cameron snapped. "Can I say that? Or are you going to bug me about  _this_ , too? Do I have to tell everyone  _everything_  now just because you all think so?"

Kay said nothing. Her eyes flickered down to his injured hand, and she saw he was forcing his fingers to flex more than they could withstand. His expression was twisted in pain. He'd given up on trying to make it seem like he was doing something with his bed. Now he was just staring straight ahead. She looked at how red his eyes were. How dark the bags under them had gotten. How pale he was. Her words were gentle. "Cameron…you shouldn't keep yourself up. And you shouldn't hurt yourself just to try. You ate a little bit just now, why don't you try to sleep a little bit? It can only be a couple of hours, it doesn't have to be long."

"It never  _takes_ long," Cameron was mumbling, before she could even finish. She stopped short at this. His eyes flickered to her briefly. But in that moment, his anger was gone and it was replaced instead with a fear similar to the type that had been in eyes when he'd woken up from his nightmare that night on the couch. He looked scared, and overwhelmed. Already. It the attempt to avoid the full-on episode. Kay wilted noticeably, and he looked away with a tiny shake of the head. "I don't want to sleep," he murmured. "I can't."

"Cameron…you can't stay awake forever," she argued, though it pained her to do so. He grimaced. "You  _need_ to sleep. When was the last time you really did?" Since she was over? That long ago? Cameron wasn't going to give her an answer, so she guessed it had to at least be something like that. "You have to sleep," she continued to object, and he flexed his fingers again. "You can't keep doing this to yourself. You'll only get worse."

"I don't  _want_  to," he insisted. His voice was thinner already. Already giving out. Kay's chest ached in pain. "I don't want to sleep!" His voice cracked, too hoarse to stay steady. "I don't want to sleep, I don't want to eat, I don't want to get up, I don't want to talk to anyone, I don't want to  _do anything!_ I want to be left  _alone!"_ Kay steadied herself as she saw tears spring into Cameron's eyes. As she heard his breathing grow more haywire and uncontrolled. "I want to be  _alone_ , I want everyone to stop  _bothering me_ and looking at me like I'm— like I'm—!" He broke off, his breathing hitched and escalated. He was staring ahead with wide eyes. But they were vacant, and faraway. Like he was seeing something she couldn't.

Silence existed for quite some time. Before Kay asked gently: "Do you  _really_  want to be alone, Cameron?"

The question was simple, but it dragged him back immediately. He jerked his head a little bit, as if in shock. When he turned to look at her, his eyes were filled with tears and one marked its way down the side of his face. He made no move to brush it away. He only looked at her like he was just now noticing she'd come in. She said nothing. She only looked at him earnestly, with nothing but kind concern. His lower lip trembled. Something in the back of his expression broke as he searched her face. His shoulders curled inward, as if he was in pain. It took a long time, but eventually it came.

"No," he choked, all the anger let out of his voice like it was a balloon that had been popped. What was left in its stead was heartbreaking defeat and loneliness— fear that she had never seen or heard from him until this entire thing had started. It was so deep it cut her to the bone. It was all she could do to keep her expression from breaking right along with his. He closed his eyes and held his head in his hands. "No, I don't," he cried.

The give-in had been what she expected, but she wasn't sure what to do with it now that it was here. For a heartbeat, she could only stare at her friend, so beaten down and desolate underneath the weight of everything he had to carry. He was refusing to sleep because he didn't want to have any more nightmares. He didn't want to have to relive any of that hell, but every time he closed his eyes, it was there waiting for him. She didn't want him to, either. She wanted him to have relief. She didn't want him to wake up screaming or hurting himself or someone else. She wanted so many things for him, but this was just one on the list.

There wasn't much she could do to try and ensure all of that.

So the one offer she  _could_  make was spilling out of her mouth before she could double-check it. "I can stay with you." Cameron had been trying to pull himself together, so he looked at her with a little bit of surprise when she announced this. There was nothing on his face but confusion. Kay shook her head. "I can stay with you," she repeated, realizing what it must sound like. She rushed to fix it, and elaborate further. "I can sit with you— if you start to have a nightmare, I can wake you up." His confusion stayed put like it was glued. "You might…not get  _a lot_  of sleep, but you'll get a little bit of it. I can make sure you're okay." There was a slightly awkward silence between them, and once again Kay didn't make it any better by tacking on: "Or I can…get Dina. If you'd…rather…"

He got over the initial hurdle. He shook his head. "It's— no, you don't— have to…no. You shouldn't have to sit here and…no. I'll be fine. It's fine."

Kay weakened as he turned away again. To go back to pretending he was doing something with the covers. She knew that it wasn't her place to push. That especially after the mess-up she'd had, she was the last person that needed to be pestering him. Some part of her told her to get Dina instead, and keep herself out of it. It was clear that Cameron wanted nothing to do with her— she couldn't force herself on him. Not ever, but especially not now. So she almost turned around and gave up. But at the same time, she knew if she did, he would go right back to hurting himself. He would go right back to trying to stay awake despite the fact that his body was clearly ten seconds away from shutting down.

He would go right back to suffering.

And when it came down to it, he was her friend. And she hated to see him suffer when she knew she could do something.

So she pleaded again. "I want to help you."

He stiffened oddly, his eyes flashing. He blinked and looked at her, once more in that strange way.

She just tried again. "Let me help you."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She'd laid out a couple blankets on the ground by Cameron's bed. A couple pillows too, and that was all she needed. It wasn't like she was going to sleep, anyway. She'd told Dina she was moving from the couch to the floor of Cameron's room to wake him up if he needed it. It was a miracle she'd finally managed to bring an end to the hug that had followed, as well as the stream of gratitude— the scene had ended up lasting nearly a full two minutes. Now, from here, it was just finally giving Cameron the security he needed to feel safe enough to go to sleep.

And, of course, it had been instantaneous. Once he managed the transition back to laying down, he was practically asleep the second his head hit the pillow. Days of going without it, and Kay actually heaved a sigh of relief when she heard his breathing deepen not a minute later. She wasn't sure how long he was going to stay asleep, but she hoped that at least some of the bruise-like bags under his eyes would go away. Some more light might return to his eyes. Or he would just have some more life to him in general. It was all baby steps they were taking, but the important part was that they were taking them in the first place.

She sat with her back to the wall and her legs crossed. She played on her phone to keep herself up and every so often she glanced over to Cameron and made sure he was still sleeping peacefully. That there wasn't the tiniest thing wrong. And he slept for a long time with no interruptions. Her phone battery drained nearly all the way in the meantime— she had to plug it in. She was halfway through her twentieth game of Sudoku when she heard him start mumbling for the first time. She tore her gaze from her phone and looked up, her eyes going to the clock to see it was just rounding midnight.

She got up on her knees and crouched so she could see him. Sure enough, the peaceful look on his face was gone. Instead, it was slowly being replaced with a grimace that was only growing more apparent. His forehead was creased and his eyes were closing tighter. She couldn't make out what he was mumbling, but she reached out anyway, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and shaking him just a little bit. "Cameron," she whispered. He didn't react, and she shook him harder. "Cameron, wake up!"

She raised her voice only a fraction, but it was enough. His eyes snapped open, bleary and groggy. He jerked a little bit, with a tiny, frightened gasp, and she took her hand away. "It's okay," she soothed, and he looked at her, blinking fast a couple of times. He still seemed half-asleep. The expression on his face was muddled and numb as he looked at her through half-lidded eyes. Kay offered him a smile. "You're okay. Go back to sleep," she encouraged. He looked like he was planning on saying something. He started to open his mouth, like something was going to come out, but his eyes were already closing again. Kay watched as his eyes grew too heavy to stay open, and he relaxed all over again, falling back asleep seamlessly. She waited, a little tense, in case he was dropped right back into his nightmare. But that peaceful look was back, and it stayed.

She went back down to sit on the floor.

That was how the night passed. She would sit and she would listen, and whenever there was something out of the ordinary, she would get up and check him. At 12:47, he started to hyperventilate. At 1:30, he started to thrash from side to side. At 2:50, he started crying. At 4:25, his hands had started to move up to his neck again. Every time something like this happened, Kay would snap up and rush to the bed, waking him up as quickly but as gently as she could. Every time, he would wake up disoriented and half-aware, and would only calm down after she reassured him multiple times that he was alright and that it was all just a dream. He'd fall asleep easily afterwards, at least. She guessed he was so tired it was almost impossible for him not to.

She was relieved for that, at least. She'd hoped he would be so tired he wouldn't have nearly as many dreams as he was having now. She'd hoped it would be a dead sleep, with absolutely nothing wrong, so he could have that respite he desperately deserved. But if this was the most he could get, then she was willing to do this and stay up for him. She was making sure he was able to rest as much as possible, this way. She could take a nap during the day, if she really needed it. But it wasn't like her job hadn't trained her to have sleepless nights. She was near an expert. It wasn't much to ask of her.

It was almost six when Cameron started screaming.

She guessed she was waiting for that one, but it still scared the living daylights out of her when it came out of nowhere. The room had been completely silent, until all of a sudden it was filled with terrified screeching. She jerked and dropped her phone entirely, whirling around with wide eyes to see Cameron twisting sharply in the bed, probably doing damage to his bruised ribs. She'd looked up at him only a moment ago to see he was perfectly fine. This change had been too fast for her to stop. She shoved herself over to him and reached out, skipping on grabbing his shoulders, even though it would be more effective at keeping him still. No— she'd learned the best way by now to touch him, so she moved to hold his face in her hands as she called out his name.

"Cameron!" she yelled over him, quickly brushing her thumbs along his cheeks to try and get him to open his eyes. He kept screaming, his arms jerking awkwardly, like he was trying to push her off. She yelled louder. "Cameron! Look at me! Open your eyes— wake up!" She held him a little tighter, with more force than was needed, and his eyes did snap open. His pupils were blown out with fear, and his screaming immediately choked into a harsh gasp. She moved, forcing their eyes to meet as she kept her thumbs running comfortingly over his cheekbones. "Cameron, are you awake?" she asked, bringing her voice down to its normal volume again.

He was gasping raggedly, his eyes staying huge. He didn't say anything, but he was staring at her, and the look in his eyes made her feel like he was. Her eyebrows drew together in concern. "Cameron, it was just a bad dream," she reminded him. "It wasn't anything else. You're still home. You're safe. It's okay."

"It— he—" Cameron was breathing too hard to speak.

"Just a nightmare," she repeated. "You're alright. There's no one else here."

He kept staring like a deer in headlights. But he was slowly gathering himself.

Kay let her hands linger on his face for just a few more moments before she began to pull away. However, the second she started to withdraw, Cameron reached up with his good hand and grabbed onto her wrist, keeping it there. She froze, and looked back at him in something close to confusion. Her eyes went to his hand, and they flashed. She closed them, and when she spoke, her voice came out sounding almost pained. "Cameron…" She wasn't going to do this all over again. She wasn't going to upset him. She couldn't let him upset  _himself_.

"No, it's—" She looked back and realized with a jolt that he was crying. He still looked terrified, like at any second, if he let go of her, he'd go right back to where she just dragged him out of. The depth of it took her breath away. It cut off any argument she had building on her tongue. Winded, she just stared at him. "I— just—" And then he repeated himself from nights before, unknowingly, because he certainly had been too wasted that night to remember a single word. But here he was, making the same request, this time too wrapped in fear to think twice on it. "Can you stay with me?" he whispered, every syllable shaking.

Her mouth went dry. She found that her own eyes were misting over. Stupidly, she tried: "I'm…right here, Cameron, I'm— on the floor, I'm only a couple…" Cameron's fingers wrapped tighter around her wrist. The desperation and panic in his eyes multiplied. She wilted. "I don't…Cameron, I don't want to upset you…" And yet rejecting him now seemed to be doing that very thing. She was torn. She didn't want to hurt him. She didn't want to reject him. She didn't want to do something he would regret later just because he was scared in this one moment.

Was she being selfish? Was she overthinking? Was there a way out?

Cameron was still crying.

She made up her mind. "Okay." The amount of relief on his face was unfathomable. She hesitated before she took her hands away from him and moved instead to shift aside the blankets. As she sat down on the bed, she moved slowly on purpose, to give him more than enough time to tell her this wasn't what he meant. She'd learned from her mistake— she wasn't going to do anything else rash. But he never said anything. He was too busy trying to get his breathing back under control. Yet the relief was clear on his face once she settled to lay down next to him. She had to admit it was better than being on the floor. Still, she looked at him with worry. "Are you okay?" she whispered.

Cameron's eyes were closed, but it was just in the attempt to calm down. His breathing was still a little fast, but he gave a tiny nod. "…Yeah, I'm—" He cringed and shook his head. He opened his eyes and looked at her, in a way that made it seem like he was just aware enough now to realize what he'd asked for. She was already moving to get back down on the floor the second she saw this. But his words stopped her before she could. "Thank you," he whispered. Somehow, speaking above that volume now seemed wrong. He looked miserable. Still exhausted. But there was gratitude there as well. "For…"

Silence swallowed whatever he was going to say. They continued to stare at each other in silence, and Kay could see anxiety crawling over Cameron's face, to further upset him. Her response came without conscious thought. "It's alright, Cameron," she reassured. "It's not…I just want to help you. That's it. It's nothing else." A little blunt a statement, but that was what this kind of situation needed. Upfront honesty, and constant reassurance. He'd said he wanted nothing from her. She'd put her feelings aside. That was the end of it all. No bitterness, no pushing, no anything. This was absolutely nothing.

Sure enough, it did exactly what she hoped it would. Cameron nodded slowly, and his breathing began to ease even more. "Okay." Awkwardness shoved itself between them for a few long seconds, before he grimaced and asked softly: "Can…I…?" He started to reach out then seemed to think better of it as he tucked his arm back to himself. Kay realized what he was asking for. Again, she couldn't ignore her worried jolt, but she couldn't ignore him either. Wordlessly, she shifted so she could be on her side as well, and they could face each other.

Cameron moved over immediately and put an arm around her. He felt her do the same, her grip noticeably very loose and light. He was stiff at first, still bordering on the edge of hysteria and not sure this would help. But after a few seconds, he began to relax. Whenever he was little, and he'd been panicking inside of some trap he couldn't get out of, or freaking out because he couldn't figure out a specific trick, he'd always been soothed the second Jonathan hugged him. Tight enough to let him know that it was okay and he was rooted somewhere else. He needed that now. He needed someone to hold him and keep him here. He needed reassurance. This was what he reverted to.

So when Kay wrapped her arms around him, though it took a second for him to make the right, logical, connections, his horrified gasping started to stutter into nothing. He held tighter to her and inched even closer, resting his head just below hers. He closed his eyes and sighed, the air hurting his throat on the way out after his bout of screaming. He wasn't crying anymore, or panicking. He was just exhausted again. And suddenly, with Kay holding him gently, and the smell of her perfume back, he was already starting to fall asleep again.

Kay realized this. Quietly, she asked: "Is this okay?" Wanting to be absolutely sure.

Cameron's only reply was a barely-there hum of contentment.

She wasn't sure what to do. Or feel. For now, she just rested her head down on top of his and kept watching over him in case he woke up again. Eventually, laying the way she was, her own eyes started to get heavy. She was yawning more and more and despite all her best efforts, the sound and feel of Cameron's deep breathing started to lull her. She started out just resting her eyes, but eventually she fell asleep with him, too tired to keep focused on what she was meant to do.

But that was alright. She wasn't needed.

Cameron didn't wake up once.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so tired it is 4:00 am and I have to get up in three hours but I know it's been a while so I just bit the bullet and stayed up to post this. I haven't had time to edit it yet, I hope to do that sometime soon when I have the time, but hopefully there aren't too many huge typos or awful things wrong with it. I had a lot of hopes for this chapter! I tried my best to make it good, I hope it pays off and I hope you all like it. I'm not too sure how many chapters are left in this story, it all depends, we'll have to see. But hopefully chapter five is good! 
> 
> WARNING: If you'd like to skip over such things, please do me a big ol' favor and stop reading at 'Hand an ordinary deck of cards' and pick up again after 'forced himself to--' You won't miss anything. I write it so A) there's no real 'it' and B) it literally doesn't matter if you don't wanna read it, it doesn't affect the storyline whatsoever.  
> Anyway! My laptop is dying and so am I of lack of sleep. SO! I hope you all like this chapter! And I hope I can hear from you in a comment! <3

Kay hadn't had too many moments in her life that were slow.

She'd worked hard from day one. And a majority of it hadn't been easy. She worked hard in school, to get perfect grades or near-perfect grades on every assignment and every test. She'd pulled all-nighters studying, or she'd woken up in the library with her face pressed down into a book. She'd been in as many extracurricular activities as she could, in the hopes to make her transcript appealing to a college— at least appealing enough to lower the cost to something achievable. She'd graduated at the top of her class. All the while struggling with the fact that she had been the one to find her sister after she'd overdosed. The one that had to tell her parents, and had to attend the funeral and see them cry. Despite all that, she still worked hard. Still didn't let up.

She attended college and worked long hours of serving to be able to afford it all. When she wasn't working, she was studying. When she wasn't doing one of those things, she was volunteering to put together pep rallies or organize a fundraiser or anything else that was happening on campus. She would go to sleep late and get up early in the morning. And when college was done, she was setting out to find a job that was relevant and applicable to the resume she was building in the hopes to one day be in the FBI. She worked hard and accomplished much and eventually put in her application. Only to be subjected to rigorous background checks and working to fit the physical fitness requirement that every potential special agent had to meet.

She was accepted, but from there it was onto training— twenty long weeks at the FBI Academy. Twenty long weeks of studying, and learning, and practicing, and firearm training, and even more, back-to-back-to-back. She slept little and worked even harder than she ever had, and she refused to let up until she was finally given the chance to swear in. Which led her to her probationary period – a two-year stretch – that left her working under the guidance of another agent for an apprentice-mentor relationship. And her work had never stopped. She met each new assignment with the same drive and determination to succeed like she had the very first one she'd been given, all that time ago. She remained a force to be reckoned with. A person that was known to work hard and refused failure because that's what she'd always done.

She'd always worked hard. From the very beginning.

So moments like these…slow, peaceful moments…she'd had so little of them.

Maybe that was why this one seemed so monumental to her.

Or maybe it was for a different reason.

She had woken up only a short while ago. She hadn't even realized she'd fallen asleep in the first place; once she had, she'd felt a tiny sting of guilt. But that was quick to fade once she woke up fully and realized what was happening. It came as a surprise to her, for some reason. She wasn't sure why. Maybe she figured that at some point in the night they would have separated. Maybe she thought that he couldn't possibly have slept for this long, especially with her unable to wake him up if he needed it. She didn't know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn't been this.

Cameron was still curled into her, still holding to her. In turn, her arms were still wrapped around him, almost in a protective way. His head was resting down against her shoulder. It allowed her to inch back just a little bit so she could look at him. The very instant she did, her chest was immediately gripped with a relief so aching and present that it practically winded her. He looked completely relaxed. Serene, and peaceful, like nothing at all was wrong. His breathing was deep and even, and soft against her skin. It wasn't hitching in panic or choking down on sobs. He was just sleeping.  _Finally._ After days and days of forcing himself to stay up, he was sleeping, now completely unhindered.

She wasn't sure what to do at first— whether she was supposed to take her arms back and leave him now that she was awake. Some part of her went back to her initial worry: that he really hadn't wanted this. He'd been scared, and he'd just asked for the first thing he could think of to try and help. If he woke up like this, it might upset him. It was better to be safer rather than sorry. So she steeled herself and started to let go of him and shift away.

But she couldn't. The thought was there; she was trying to get it to become actual action. It refused. She just kept staring at Cameron, and how oblivious he was to everything. Asleep, he looked ten years younger. Like his old self. She didn't want to risk ruining that. If she moved, she might wake him up. So she ended up staying put, and taking up her job once more of making sure he didn't slip into a nightmare. She kept her arms around him, and she didn't get up.

It was peaceful.

And she found herself clinging to the moment, while it was here. While there was no pain, or anger, or held-back words. While the look on Cameron's face was gentle and clear. There was no fighting, because the only sound was his soft breathing. The room was still dark, but somehow this darkness – though the same as it had always been – wasn't oppressive; it was comforting. Right now, the feeling that she had was reminiscent of when she'd come back to the Archive on a better night. A night she could tell Cameron was doing better because he was up and smiling, and the air wasn't rife with tension. That relief was back— that happiness was back. She'd missed it.

Ever since the night they'd been together, things had gone downhill, and they'd gone downhill fast. She guessed she shouldn't have expected Cameron to be able to recover perfectly…nobody ever did. There were relapses with everything. Setbacks. But maybe this was their new turning point. Maybe it could get better from here, or at least a little easier. Which was good; it was what Cameron deserved. He deserved this peace…this respite. She was so thankful she had been able to give it to him.

More than half an hour passed, though to her it didn't feel nearly as long as that. She could have stayed there all day, and still be willing to stay for longer. Mostly she just enjoyed the quiet, and the rest. But every so often, her eyes would catch on Cameron and they would get stuck there. She would look at his face, and she would find her heart twisting in pain as she studied every detail. As she tried to memorize this tranquility, because it had been so long since she had been able to see it. At one point, her eyes caught on something else.

He was laying on his right side facing her. While his left arm was looped around her, his right one had slipped at some point in the night to rest down on the mattress between them. It was turned upwards. Cameron was wearing a long-sleeved shirt— he did that a lot now, practically every day. But she could see one of the tiny threads of his stitches poking out from underneath the slightly rolled sleeve. He needed to get them removed. It was just now about two weeks since he'd gotten them. That was typically the limit on how long stitches were supposed to stay. He had just gotten so sick it had slipped their minds. Maybe she could persuade him to let her take him…it wouldn't take very long, and it wasn't like—

Her thoughts were broken when Cameron shifted just a little bit. She couldn't stop herself from stiffening when he did. He took in a breath that was deeper and a little sharper than the ones that came before. Kay grew a little tense when his eyes slowly started to pry themselves open, like they weighed a million pounds. His expression was muddled, which was to be expected, considering he'd slept for just a little bit more than eighteen hours. Even when he did worm them open, he still had to wake up all the way. It helped when he moved as if to stretch and he felt his arms pull against her.

A tiny confused noise scraped itself out of his throat. He blinked a couple times, and Kay could see him clearing away the fog that was shrouding him. Initially, he just stared blearily at his arms, like he was wondering what was wrong with them. But little by little his awareness leaked back, and eventually he looked up at her. The way his expression changed, it was as if it was a shock she was actually there. Cameron looked down at himself and then at her, having to piece together the puzzle. Already she was wilting uncertainly in the face of the awkwardness that was very quickly shoving its way back in between them, and the expression that was crawling back over his face.

She started to open her mouth, but Cameron was beating her to the punch.

"I'm— you didn't have to— I'm sorry, you—" He shook his head and started to take his arms back, already trying to scoot away from her. She bit down hard on her disappointment and let go of him, pulling back and sitting up. Cameron was starting to do the same, but it was a much bigger task for him. It took longer, and Kay's heart twisted as she saw his face crease over once again with that pain. As she saw that he had already lost the peace, and that he hadn't even been able to savor it when it was there. "You didn't have to do that, that was— that wasn't— I'm sorry." He was rambling, and stuttering over himself.

Kay was immediately trying to soothe him. "Cameron, it's fine. You didn't do anything wrong." He looked away, finally having managed the feat of sitting up. He was holding his bad hand in his good one gingerly; she wondered if after last night it was hurting even more. "I told you, Cameron, I just want to make sure you're—"

"Don't try and— it's not— no, no, I…shouldn't have done that." His words were stiff.

Kay weakened even more. "Cameron, it's  _fine_ ," she pressed. "I was happy to do it, I'm just glad you finally slept a litt—"

"No, I'm sorry, you just— don't listen to me next time, I shouldn't have—"

"Cameron, it's  _okay_. You asked, and I just—"

"I didn't  _ask_ , I didn't give you a choice!" he burst. Kay blinked, falling silent. Her eyebrows drew a little more together. Cameron grimaced, and the brief burst of hostility fell away. Instead, he just sounded tired. Tired, and embarrassed, but most of all severely disappointed in himself. "You started to say no. I didn't listen." Her eyes rounded out in not only surprise but also pain. However, he wasn't looking at her. His head was ducked and his eyes were closed. "You wanted to say no but I was just too— that's not an excuse though, I didn't— I didn't give you a choice, you just felt like you  _had to_ , I made you feel like you had to. I didn't let you say  _no_." He grimaced, and looked even sicker when this passed his lips.

Silence followed the objection, because Kay wasn't sure what exactly to say in reaction. She was stunned, staring at her friend with enough sorrow to drown in. Eventually, she managed to speak. "Cameron…you can't possibly think that's what happened." He kept refusing to look at her, but his shoulders got a little tenser. "Cameron, you didn't  _force_ me to do anything. Okay? At  _all_. I only wanted to make sure you weren't upset— I didn't want you to be upset like this. That was the  _only reason_  I hesitated. So  _please_  don't be upset now." His shoulders were slowly relaxing. But that grimace was still set over his face.

"I was happy to do it, Cameron, I didn't feel like you were pressuring me at all. I was just worried for how you would feel this morning— I was worried you would regret asking in the first place. I know that I messed up before, I just didn't want to…mess up again." His eyes opened with this, though they still trained downward. All the same, she saw them flash. "I was only worried about myself. Please don't think I felt forced to do anything. You could never make me feel that way." He grimaced uncomfortably. He didn't fight her, but he still kept his stare averted. The silence that shoved itself between them was suddenly suffocating. Not at all the soothing kind that had existed in the room before now. It was grating and loud and it choked the both of them.

Kay was desperate to break it. So the words ended up practically falling out of her mouth. "All I want is for you to be happy, Cameron. I  _wanted_ to help you. I w _anted_ to do that. And I would do it again, if you asked me to. Without hesitation." He studied his hand because there wasn't anything else for him to focus on. But as her next words slipped out without any rational thought, he found himself finally looking up at her. "I'd do anything to help you get better, Cameron." The sentiment was soft, but it was one hundred percent earnest. When he turned to look at her, she felt the smallest jolt of uneasiness, just because she wasn't sure if she was overstepping boundaries. But she still didn't waver. She just looked at him with complete sincerity, silently pleading with him to understand. "I don't care about anything else. At all. I'm here for you. For anything you need."

Cameron stared at her in silence, as if she'd snatched all the wind away from him. For what seemed like ages, they just held one another's stares, neither of them saying a single word. Eventually he tried to crack a smile. Yet the effort was far too weak to actually qualify. The laughter that underlaid his words was just as misguided and fragile. It made his question all the sadder. "Why?" he murmured, shaking his head only a fraction.

The word hurt to hear. But it was easily met. "Because you're my friend. And I care about you." Not a burden, or a duty. Cameron was her friend. Someone she cared for deeply. And someone she wanted to see well again. She would do anything he asked, anything it took to get his smile back on his face. Anything that would bring him back. It was clear in her voice, in every single syllable that hung between them. And it did hang. The air between them was thick with everything the both of them weren't saying. The things she was holding back from Cameron because she had promised herself she would forget her feelings indefinitely for his sake. And the things that plagued the far back of Cameron's gaze but he was biting back on in the effort to save face.

It was difficult to tell who was keeping more back.

They could have sat there for five seconds or five minutes, just holding one another's gaze and trying not to be crushed by everything that was going unsaid. Cameron slowly untensed more and more, until he was completely relaxed again and the anxiety was mostly washed from his face. A couple times something in his expression changed, like he was tempted to actually break the silence. But every time, it failed him. Kay searched his face, and looked at the bruises that were still lingering on his skin. Some were hardly visible anymore, some were taking a little while longer to fade. The cut on his lip had healed.

He had so many injuries…and he was on the mend.

Why couldn't the same be said for the injuries that they _couldn't_  see?

She wilted and frowned, when her eyes traveled up and caught on the gash that bridged his forehead. It had been much worse before, but it still caused her pain to look at now. It was healing, and soon it would probably just end up being a thin scar. Spanning a portion of his skin just below his hairline. Would he have a lot of scars from this? The one on his arm was bad enough…but to have so many marks on himself to remind him of what happened…it pained her. Without thinking, she reached up and let her fingers trace gently over the injury, barely grazing it in case it was still a source of discomfort. Her expression was troubled and hurt as she ghosted her fingers along the remnant. And once she traced from one side to the other, she still lingered on its edge.

Her eyes fell and she realized Cameron's stare had changed. He was looking at her with a mix of sorrow and something else she wasn't quite able to pin down. He didn't pull away from her. He didn't avert his eyes. In fact, his stare was completely steady as he met hers. He was hardly even blinking. Kay's chest felt tight, and the silence seemed somehow even more earsplitting. Her hand began to fall, running lightly down the side of his face as she brought it back to herself. It stuttered at his cheek, like it wanted to stay there for just a little bit longer.

Cameron turned his head just the smallest bit into her touch. So tiny a movement, she was likely to have just imagined it in the first place. And, just as slowly, he started to lean closer to her. He was so hesitant, she didn't even notice it at first. The only reason she did was because she felt her arm bend just a little bit at the elbow as he tilted her way. Her mouth ran completely dry as she realized what he was doing, and her stomach started to twist. At first she was a statue, simply watching him. Then, she started to inch closer too, millimeter by tiny millimeter. They were both looking at the other fearfully, their twin looks conjured for likely two very different reasons.

They grew closer and closer. Their noses were less than an inch from brushing.

Before Kay pulled back, taking her hand away. Cameron blinked fast a couple of times, like he was being jarred back into awareness. Her expression was pained but she hid it by looking away. Which was good, because at the same time she didn't want to see the look that was on Cameron's face. "You should get something to eat," she offered, her voice coming out weak. "I can bring you something small. If you want."

For a moment he just stared at her, crestfallen and confused. Torn. It looked like there were a million things he wanted to say. Like he was trying to get ahold of at least one. But he couldn't. He didn't say anything. But Kay took that as some kind of answer, apparently, because she shifted out from underneath the covers and started for the door. Cameron watched her go, feeling hollow. But there wasn't much he could say or do, to bring her back. She crossed the threshold and rounded the corner, and suddenly Cameron was very alone. Noticeably so.

He closed his eyes tightly and sighed. He ducked down to press his forehead into the palms of his hands. He inflicted pain in his bad one in the process. It had already been aching, but with the added pressure it was difficult not to flinch away from the sting.

He ignored it, though. It was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was feeling better. Not that it was a very impressive feat at all, because literally  _anything_  would be better than the way he'd been feeling lately. If he would walk farther than the kitchen and not pass out, he was technically in the zone of 'better.' But still, he  _did_ feel better. Not completely okay, but his head wasn't reeling as much, and it was a lot clearer than it had been before. His stomach wasn't twisting on itself and his balance wasn't swayed from a lack of sleep. He wasn't dragging as much as before, and the focus and attention was back on his face. He couldn't eat a lot when he woke up. He ate half a sandwich before he got to feeling nauseated and he had to stop. But as minimal as the meal was, it was still  _something_. His body was so starved of food that it was grateful even for these tiny amounts.

He still felt run-down, like he could sleep more. Especially after eating, his stomach wasn't sitting all the way right. But it was better. Dina was over the moon to hear how long he'd slept, and she practically beamed when she saw him actually getting something down at the table, even with the difficulty it came with. He'd offered her a smile that was a little pinched at its edges. She made up for his reluctance tenfold when she'd wrapped him up in a gentle but firm hug. It wasn't something she did very often. He was smiling just a little bit by the time she'd drawn away.

Kay was acting as though the moment they'd had before hadn't happened. Like her memory was wiped, or she had amnesia. Cameron tried to follow her lead, knowing that it was for the best. He didn't want to dwell on it either. Eventually, she'd broached the topic that had occurred to her that morning, which wasn't an easy thing to do all things considered. Along with…practically everything, really, it was an unspoken agreement that nobody speak about or point out the horrific injury on Cameron's arm. Arguably the worst of his injuries, it was far too garish and cruel to even think about let alone address. Kay herself had seen the least of it. The team had seen it only because their job had been to clean it in order to make sure it didn't get infected.

Cameron hadn't wanted to go. Resolutely, he'd claimed they could do it here at home— it couldn't be that hard, could it? But Dina had jumped to side with Kay, and before long they were all in the car going to the hospital. Cameron had been silent the entire car ride there, slouched over a little bit in the back as he stared out the window dully. And he was still silent when they parked and made their way up to the big building.

He hated hospitals. He'd always hated hospitals— they were awful. They were depressing and sterile and nobody there was  _ever_  in a good mood. It was way too crowded— filled with too many people who were all fighting to be seen at the same time. Every time he'd been in the hospital was an awful memory. When he was little, he was sent there a couple of times…for broken bones thanks to a trick gone wrong, one time for a concussion after he fell. Not only did he have to stay in an uncomfortable bed, completely alone because Jonathan could never be seen with him of course…but his father had also always been furious that they'd had to put their show on hold because he had "made another mistake." Because he hadn't gotten the hang of a trick fast enough, and that was why they were there.

He'd been in the hospital with that one fall, too. He'd nearly died from that one – really  _dodged a bullet_  there, so thank you for that – and that was just as good a memory. He hadn't even really been conscious for a portion of it, and he'd woken up with so many wires in him he thought he was part machine. But Dina had been crying her eyes out when he had, and Gunter had yelled at him for the next month about how stupid he was for never having any caution whatsoever. Jonathan…Jonathan had been worried sick. He'd called every single night, unable to get to his bedside like he wanted. Then Cameron was  _stuck_  there for forever because he was never allowed to leave. He practically went insane in that stay.

And the  _last time_  he'd been here…

He was going to be brutally honest— he couldn't really remember much at all about it.

It was all a blur. When he tried to reach back to it, he just came up with things he certainly hadn't been looking for, and were certainly irrelevant to what he was  _wanting_  to remember. When it came to the hospital, he could only get blurs of colors, or indistinct voices that sounded too far away. He might have yelled something. The clearest things he could get were mostly of Kay. Of her telling him it was okay, and of her staying by his side. She'd put a hand down on his arm…he thought he remembered that. She'd…asked him something…he wasn't sure what it had been, though.

Mostly, he just remembered the fear. And the pain. How much he hurt, and how much he'd been crying…

Why was it so much easier to remember the bad stuff that happened to you?

"We could go out after this," Dina offered, her voice bright. Nobody responded, and, a little reluctantly, she kept going, just to fill the awkward silence that was left. "We could…go and get some ice cream. Or…there's this really good place that just opened, it sells the best cookies— they're baked so that the middle still has…a little raw dough on the inside. You'd really like it." She looked at Cameron with this, but he wasn't paying her any attention. He was staring off into space, looking distracted. The expression he wore was something bordering on the fringe of a grimace. Kay looked at him and wilted with apprehension. Dina kept trying, rambling because she didn't know what else to do. "We'd have a couple of hours before dinner, we could go shopping. It would be nice to…get out of the house…only for a little bit."

Cameron still acted like he was deaf. He kept staring.

Kay leaned a little bit to the side, trying to see what he was looking at. Her forehead creased when she turned back to him. "Cameron?" He didn't react, and she spoke again, a little bit louder. "Cameron." He roused, blinking a couple times as if he was being roused out of some kind of stupor. The curtain around the hospital bed had been drawn around them to fence them in away from everyone else, but he'd been staring off to the side, through a crack in their makeshift isolation. A janitorial cart was left unattended for the time being a little way away from them. His eyes had been snagged over to it ages ago. Ever since then, he'd been staring at the mop that was sticking out of the bucket. Hardly even blinking.

When Kay raised her voice, he jerked and started to blink fast. He seemed confused, like he wasn't exactly sure what was happening or what he'd missed. "Hm?" He still stayed staring at the cart filled with cleaning supplies, like he couldn't manage anything else. Regardless, he tried to make it seem like he was focused. "Nnnno, not…really," he offered in a tiny mumble. Kay's forehead creased. She and Dina exchanged a worried look that Cameron was oblivious to. Before either of them could ask him what he was doing, though, the curtain was pulled back even more. Cameron jumped about an inch into the air when the nurse suddenly came into their space.

She wasn't the same nurse that had first stitched him up. Kay didn't recognize her— her hair was much darker and she looked a little older. She looked at Cameron with a friendly smile. "Hello." At least now, Cameron was able to put himself back into the moment. The janitorial cart slipped his mind as he looked back front. "I understand we've got some stitches to remove? Hopefully really fast and really easy." Her gaze was expectant, and Cameron's stomach fell just a little bit as he realized what she was waiting for. He frowned and looked down, reaching over to start rolling up his right sleeve.

He hesitated, though, before he could. He stopped short, his shoulders hunching forward. He didn't move. The nurse frowned. Kay and Dina once again shared a look, and once again it was like they were looking in a mirror. They gave it a couple more seconds, but Cameron was suddenly a statue. The nurse looked up between them the very second Dina made the decision. "We'll wait," she said. Cameron blinked a couple times, still staring down at his arm. His eyebrows knitted together at the offer, but he didn't object. So Dina nodded. "We'll just…go back to the waiting room. You can meet us there once you're done."

He didn't say anything. Dina looked at Kay meaningfully before she turned and exited around the curtain. Kay hesitated for a moment, before she turned and followed. They left Cameron and the nurse alone, and the nurse offered him a tiny smile. Though it was noticeably weaker than the one she had come in with. "Four's a bit of a crowd?" she offered. Cameron closed his eyes in an uncomfortable grimace, and didn't say anything. For the time being, he was just trying to stomp down his nerves before they could get out of hand. For some reason, his chest was beginning to constrict and burn, like something was wrong. Even though he knew for a fact nothing was. The nurse saw his apprehension and moved to try and diffuse it. "You have good friends," she offered. "Not too many patients that come through here have people like that with them."

"I'm a popular person," Cameron hummed, his voice dull and bland.

It took a second, but eventually he got himself to roll his sleeve the rest of the way up to where he knew that it would expose the injury fully. He couldn't look at it, though. His eyes darted to the side as the nurse started to work. He felt the bandage he kept wrapped around it loosen and unwind. The temptation to turn and look down at it was almost too much to stand up against. His head turned just a little bit, like he was about to. But he stopped himself, and just closed his eyes, in the attempt to try and make sure he was blind to everything. He was like a stupid kid that had was trying to hide from a scary movie they'd mistakenly thought they would be able to watch.

He stayed like that. Sitting with his head turned and his eyes closed as the nurse set to removing the sutures in his arm. It stretched on for ages. Or maybe it just felt that way. The woman seemed to realize he wasn't in the mood to talk because she didn't try and worm conversation out of him. She worked in silence until eventually she withdrew and announced happily: "There you are. You're good as new." But he refused to look. He only tugged down his sleeve again, roughly and with a pained flinch. He mumbled a tiny thank-you, simply because that was what you were supposed to do. But he'd prefer the niceties to stop there. Now, he just wanted to leave.

He didn't waste much time before he started back for where he knew Kay and Dina would be waiting. Walking, he threw a glance over his shoulder to see his nurse had retreated as well, and she was currently talking to other scrub-clad workers. He was much too far to hear what she was actually saying— her eyebrows were a little raised as she spoke, though, and he could see the others' reactions to her became similar. His stomach jolted. An uncertain frown came over his face. He couldn't hear her. Despite this, the words seemed to echo in his head.

"No, you should have seen it. His arm was mutilated— it was a huge 'S.' I have no idea how in the  _world_  it got there. He couldn't even look at it, though. It'll never be the same…who knows what—"

"Cameron Black!" He jerked at his own name, blinking as he looked back front. He was just coming out into the waiting room, but someone was now planted right in front of him. It was a man he'd never seen before, but was wearing an eager grin. Something that wasn't uncommon, but at the same time, Cameron really couldn't stop and muster much of anything like he used to. Not a friendly smile, or a joke, or even a tiny trick like he always used to strum up for fans that stopped him. Now, he was just trying to look for Kay or Dina behind them. But he was coming up short, and the person kept going. "Cameron Black, I'm a big fan! I saw you in Las Vegas, you were amazing!"

He tried to smile, but the effort hurt. "Oh, uh…yeah, thank you…I— I wish I could stop and talk, but I actually have to—"

He tried to step around them, but they weren't letting him. They met his sidestep with their own, and he stiffened with unease. They were oblivious. "It's so crazy to see you here…are you hurt? What happened?"

His smile grew wearier. "Uh—" His eyes darted back out again as he tried to pick out his friends. Where did they  _go_? "I'm fine," he managed weakly. "It's really nothing, I just— have somewhere I need to be, so…"

"What happened?" they repeated, and Cameron looked back at them with mounting frustration. "Your voice—"

"Look, it's not that I don't appreciate—"

"Are your injuries from when Jonathan stuck you in prison?" The question caused him to do a double-take. He went rigid, his eyebrows knitting together immediately. For a second he was completely silent, just staring at them in bemusement. Their friendly smile was dropping now. They looked much more serious. When he didn't answer, the man went on. "Did you get hurt while you were there?" Cameron didn't even blink. "Can you tell me what happened?"

He tried to stutter something out, his chest starting to pull tight. "I…I don't— …are you…?"

"What are your thoughts on Jonathan now?" they pressed.

Cameron jerked, his eyes starting to narrow. His hands clenched at his sides to try and stop them from shaking. "It…I wasn't— he—"

"At your brother's trial, you were awfully vocal on his innocence. Now that the proof is here, why haven't you made a single comment? And why aren't you planning on speaking at  _this_ trial? Aren't you aware it's being debated whether to release your brother or give him even more time?" Cameron's mouth was dry. They took a step closer and he wished they wouldn't. He hadn't realized that the person had been holding a phone this entire time; now he could see that it was recording the entire exchange. "Can you tell me anything about your situation? About your experience in prison? About Jonathan? About the repercussions you're currently dealing with?" Cameron tried to step around them again, but again they blocked the effort. They wouldn't let him go. Panic was beginning to burn like fire through his bloodstream. "Why haven't you been seen around New York? What are you hiding from?"

"I— just—" He couldn't fight back a cringe as they kept him trapped there. He couldn't get around them. His voice was getting thinner and more clenched. "Please leave me alone," he tried, attempting to give them a harsher glare than he probably could pull off at the moment. "You're not—"

"Why did your brother leave you in prison?"

"He didn't— I mean he  _did_ , but it's not—"

"Have you spoken to him since he's come back?"

"It's not any of your— please stop—"

"Can I just get a  _couple words_  from you? Everyone is waiting for you to say  _something_ about this situation. Anything at all."

"No," he forced out. "I'm sorry, but I'm just not—"

He started to skirt around them, but froze the instant they reached out and grabbed onto his wrist. His eyes went wide, even though the grip was loose and mostly just meant as an attempt to try and grab onto his attention one last time. It did its job— Cameron jerked to a stop, all other thoughts blinking away in the split second. The man perked, apparently triumphant over the halt. "Can't you say anything?" they asked, and Cameron stared hollowly at the ground. "Anything at all, just to let everyone know where you stand."

"Stop," he tried. His voice was wavering and he immediately hated it. It didn't help him to calm down when he went on, only losing his footing even more. "Please stop, just— I don't want to—" They were looking at him oddly as he stumbled over himself. He tried to take in a deep breath that would steady himself. It didn't do much at all. "Can you just let me g—?" He choked on the question, and it only served to make the person even more confused. His voice was thicker when he kept trying to speak. "I don't have anything to say, I— please stop—"

"Are you o—?"

" _Hey!"_  Cameron jerked his arm back to himself the very second the other person got distracted and turned towards the voice. He curled it back to his chest and held it there with his other hand like he'd gotten burned. Dina and Kay were rushing over to him now— Dina was holding a drink from the vending machine, which must have been where they'd wandered off to. But now they were back and the both of them were equally enraged.

Though Kay's anger was a little more prominent when stalked up and practically shoved the stranger away from Cameron. The look in her eyes was fit to kill. They staggered backwards, having to catch themselves to keep from falling. Kay's scowl only sharpened. "Leave him alone!" she spat. Dina wrapped her arms around him gently, looking concerned. Cameron was grimacing, shaking his head like he was trying to clear it. "Have some respect! You're lucky if I don't arrest you for harassment! Get out of here!"

The person looked between the three of them, baffled and confused. Kay only grew angrier every second he hesitated, though, so it only lasted for a couple before he was turning and rushing away. She watched him go hotly, to make sure that he wouldn't have any second thoughts. And that there was nobody else around intent on questioning Cameron. But everyone that was looking in their direction had been doing so in concern— and now that the show was over, they were going back to focusing on the reason they'd been here in the first place.

She turned and her anger melted straight off of her by the time she was looking back at Cameron. His eyes were closed in a grimace, and he was breathing slowly, like he was trying to make sure it didn't get too far away from him. Still, every breath was shaky and uneven. His hands were trembling, though he tried to clasp them together to hide the fact. Dina was murmuring something in his ear, but he shook her off after a second, prying his eyes open again and just steeling himself. She could practically see him trying to keep all his pieces together. Before she could say anything, he spoke up. His voice was flat. "Let's go home."

Dina looked after where the person had gone, wilting. "Are you okay?" she asked. "What were they—?"

"It doesn't even matter!" he snapped, frustration making his voice much sharper than he probably meant it to be. "It doesn't  _matter_ , I just want to go  _home_." Kay and Dina shared a disappointed look as he started to make for the exit. It only lasted for a tiny moment, considering they had to follow him. But it was palpable all the same. This wasn't the first time that he'd left the Archive since he'd gotten home— he'd gone out to that bar with Jordan, and even though there hadn't been other people around, he'd gone out to drive with Kay. But the number of times he  _had_ gone out could be counted on one hand. And he was met with things like  _this_.

The thought of that number never getting much bigger was an actual threat by now.

But it wasn't like either of them had the heart to try and fight him, or try and persuade him to stay out. All they could do was follow, pained and at a loss as they just accepted his request.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

 _Hand an ordinary deck of cards to someone and ask them to pull out all the cards of one suit and put them in order. So, if they pick clubs, ask them to put it in the order of one, two, three…so on and so forth with the ace on the very top. Put the rest of the deck aside, you're not going to need it. Make a small pack of those cards and turn it over so the back of it is up. Ask the person to deal the cards out to you, one at a time, so they're in a pile. Once that's done – because you know they won't trust you – grab all the cards and fan them out so they can see them, and see that they're all still in the same order. That you haven't done anything to them._ Quite _yet. So then you take them back to you and hold it up so that the values are down and the backs are up instead. Now, you tell them—_

"What?"

Cameron didn't reply. His expression was blank as he stared off into space, not looking at anything at all. He didn't even mean to actually be saying anything out loud. But sure enough, his lips were twitching to construct the feeble words…only a couple of them actually managing to scrape their way out. "Or…dinary…cards, you…order, put them…top…rest of the— you're not…goin' to…small…deal the cards, and the…'s done, and they're in the…order, but…same order they're in the same order, still in the same order, you didn't do anything…yet…take…back— hold 'em…you hold 'em…up— down, but— you…"

"What's he  _doing_?" the question was nothing but a snicker.

 _Now here's the part where you tell them all about how cheaters use the "ducking" technique to fool them and switch all the cards up while they shuffle. And about how you're not going to do that— not at all! And you show them that you deal it all so that it keeps their order— so that you're not pulling a fast one on them. This'll obviously make them more than sure that you'd never lie to them, because you're an honest guy. But just because you need to lay it on pretty thick, you're gonna go ahead and tell your spectator that you'd like to actually demonstrate_ how  _ducking works. Show them and explain to them how, if you move fast enough, you can flip cards in front or behind others in the way you see fit. And show them the difference— dealing the cards into a pile normally whenever you say "Deal" and then flipping their places when you say "Duck."_

He kept whispering— his voice reduced to numbed exhales. His eyes were glassy, and half-lidded. "Here you…s…switch, but…but you don't…keep the order so they don't think so they don't…put the cards— in…flip…keep it all the…the same, it's…the same…the…" He didn't notice anyone was listening. He didn't even notice he was  _talking._ In the attempt to remove himself completely, and in the face of his injuries and overwhelming agony, he didn't even notice the fact that – for the moment – everything had stopped. That all of a sudden a switch had been flipped and it had all screeched to a halt. He just kept whispering to himself. "'s…a difference a diff…you deal the…cards, you say 'Duck' you— no, you say 'Deal' first, it's not…but then you say 'Duck.' Then you…flip, you…"

"Wait…"

_Now you really show them everything is up to them because you tell them that they're in charge of deciding whether or not you 'deal' or 'duck.' So you tell them to call it out for each card, and if they say deal you just put it down normally. If they say duck, then you're going to flip the cards like before, and let them see that this is what's happening. Keep doing this really quickly, gradually building up speed in a way that they might not even notice in the first place. So it looks like you're really mixing up all these cards, getting them way out of order— but you're not. You've got a trick up your sleeve._

"Show…'s up…t'them, show…each card 's…quick…be quick, 'nd mix…up the…deal…"

Cameron felt the hands grab him and force him up. His back hit hard against the wall, but he didn't even blink at the harsh collision. His expression was still numb and vacant. His eyes were unfocused. When he was jostled so harshly, a wave of nausea slammed into him so hard that his lips stopped twitching entirely. He had to stop and try to wait it out, and hope it wouldn't push him over the edge. He attempted to focus on the floor, or the wall opposite him. Anything that wasn't moving, so he could steady himself.

But the half-conscious effort was taken from him. His chin was grabbed roughly and his head was yanked front. He was forced to meet Decker's gaze. The instant he did, he closed his eyes, cringing back from the twisted smile that was waiting for him. He tried to move his head away; the hard grip kept him from being able to do so. But he refused to open them again. Decker was so close it was impossible  _not_  to hear him, even over the ringing in his ears. "It sounds like the magician is trying to perform," he snickered, and Cameron's expression crumbled in a mix of frustration and disgust. But the reaction only grew sharper when Decker hissed: "What's wrong with the performance you're giving  _right now_?"

Cameron tried once more to get away. But the effort was useless, and it just made the room spin more. He was too weak, and as it was, even the tiniest movement was only half-conscious. He was forced to give up, a tiny noise of pain dying in the back of his throat. He was almost deaf to the resounding laughter. Almost. But he still heard it, and it still caused a horrible burning type of shame to sting to life underneath his skin. The embarrassment must have been too sharp; it must have leaked onto his face more than he would have liked. Because the laughter didn't stop; it only got louder.

Cameron felt that jerk of sickness again when he heard Decker snigger, closer to him now. He still cringed away. Decker wasn't going to have it, though. "Open your eyes," he growled. Cameron didn't. Whether it was out of spite, or whether it was simply because he couldn't even figure out how to in the first place, it wasn't clear. But the reasoning behind it didn't seem to matter. The principle was the same.

"I said  _open your eyes!"_  When the order came sharper, and harder, Cameron flinched blearily. His only reaction was to make a noise that was much too close to a whimper. Some part of him – the remaining scrap of awareness that was refusing to dull its way out – knew that he could probably pry his eyes open and comply. That if he pushed himself, it could be done. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to see that smile. He didn't want to see anything. He couldn't fight; he'd tried and he'd failed. This was all he had left: hiding. Like it would do any good. Like it would change anything.

But it didn't. His head was muddled to think of the repercussions he should have known would be coming. And they did. When he still couldn't manage to open his eyes, the blow came— unexpected and shocking, and out of nowhere from the sudden and overwhelming silence. Decker's fist slammed against the side of his face, scattering his brain and throwing his head to the side. Already sickened, his nausea just got ten times worse, hitting him almost as hard as Decker had.

He had so little consciousness to begin with. With the punch, Cameron's mind just went white in pain. Oddly enough, right alongside the agony was a certain degree of numbness, which only served to strip away his thoughts more. Shock was beginning to hug close, like a friend who was trying to comfort him and take away at least a little bit of the suffering. So he just went still, leaning to the side and just choking on his own breathing. When he still didn't comply, Decker punched him again. This time not holding back and raining down three in a row, not even allowing Cameron a chance to gasp in between.

He couldn't even scream; the pain was so blinding. Blood was filling his mouth; he felt it leak down his chin. He started to fall, his body beginning to sag down towards the floor. Decker grabbed him again before he could and yanked him back up. Cameron was lifeless. "Open. Your eyes." He didn't want to. But somehow, this time, he did. Not that it mattered. Between the tears and the blackness that was threatening to slam over him, he still couldn't see anything. But he did feel the pressure when it wrapped around his neck. Lesser now, because it was only one hand. But still, it squeezed, and still, Cameron gagged. His throat was already on fire. If he could breathe, he would be screeching. But he couldn't. His suffering stayed silent.

"You  _still_  don't understand," Decker hissed. Cameron only continued to retch weakly. "When I tell you to do something, you  _do_ it, no matter what it is." He squeezed tighter and a high-pitched whimper died in Cameron's chest. He tried to reach up and pry his hand off, but he couldn't get his fingers to work. "You were more than happy to be the FBI's bitch. Now you're  _my_  bitch." He kept his hold on him for just a moment more, before he let go by throwing him back against the wall again. But again, Cameron didn't even react to the pain. He just sucked in a harsh gasp, nearly falling over, he was so dizzy from the lack of oxygen.

Decker watched him, before that sick smile started to creep its way back over his face. "You want to perform?" he hissed. "Perform."

Cameron still only panted, too focused on getting his breathing back under control. And clearing away the fog that was shrouding his head. He closed his eyes and reached up shakily to try and wipe the blood off of his face. He was bleeding too much. He was shaking, and he couldn't think right, and it was all he could do to just stay up and stare fuzzily. Any other context, for all he was swaying, and for the amount of disorientation on his face, anyone would probably just assume him to be drunk. He certainly  _felt_  out of it. So he didn't react initially; he just stared down. A blank slate. He didn't even realize he was starting to fall back to the ground.

Decker grabbed him and yanked him back so he was upright once more. Cameron cringed but managed to stay there this time. "I said  _perform_ ," he hissed again.

 _Scream._ Some part of Cameron was retaining awareness. Rationality. Though it was shrinking with every passing minute, being overtaken and clouded by pain and exertion and panic and fear and sorrow and everything in between…it was still here for the time being. And it rang out now, pleading with him to listen before it went away entirely. Already, it was hardly there.  _Scream as loud as you can, for as long as you can, someone has to hear it._ Someone  _has to come and help you if you scream. Just scream._ Please.

But he couldn't. He could hardly breathe as it was. If he screamed, he would just get strangled again. And by now his voice was too ruined— he couldn't possibly make a sound that would be loud enough to even be heard through the  _door_ , much less down the hall or across the prison. As if to demonstrate the fact, he attempted to speak. His volume was something even below a whisper. It grated its way out, and pain was quick to lance up his trachea, like it was covered in scratches and his voice was pure alcohol. His eyes watered even more but by now he wasn't keeping score of how much he was crying. It didn't matter. "I…d'n't…know…" He cringed. Sagged back more against the wall. Changed tactics once again to repeat brokenly for the millionth time: "Please stop."

Decker's hand laced back around his throat, though he didn't apply any pressure yet. All the same, Cameron stiffened and whined again, which he picked up on. "Do you want to keep breathing?" he growled. Cameron tried to get up. To remember how to punch, or kick, or shove, or anything. But he couldn't. All he could do was twitch his head in the tiniest of nods. It seemed to satisfy the other. "You have ten seconds, or I make sure you won't for the next three minutes."

Cameron's expression twisted with anguish. "I d'n't know…wh't you  _want_ ," he sobbed.

"We want a s _how,_ magician," he snapped. The hand pulled away, and Cameron immediately dragged his legs up to his chest, curling his arms close to himself. Just trying to get as small as possible. It felt like he was dragging a million pounds of weight. With all the blood, his right arm was an odd mixture of hot and cold as it went flush against him. His hands were wracked with tremors, both pulsating in pain. For a couple of seconds he stayed like this, his head naturally ducked low. It took the entirety of those couple of seconds for him to get together enough strength to drag his head up. And look blearily at the group, each of which were now suddenly staring at him. Expectantly.

He kept curled away. It sounded like nails scraping on a chalkboard when he croaked again: "I don't…-ow what -ou -ant..." Some of the sounds couldn't even be made. "I'm n…"  _Stop it, don't you_ dare.  _Don't you dare finish that sentence, how selfish can you be?_ 'It's not selfish, I'm not  _being_ selfish, it was selfish of him to—'  _You've come this far now and you wanna give him away? To_ them? 'Maybe they'll stop if I do! If I—'  _Try not to be so stupid and actually_ think  _for a second—_ you  _made this mess, your name doesn't mean_ shit _. Jonathan is_ coming back,  _and you're going to be there for him when he_ does _, so why give it all away when nothing will even happen because of it? You say it now, and everything is ruined. So_ shut up. 'He's not coming back, he's not coming back for me, he left me and now I'm here and now I can't get out and I'm not Jonathan and I want to get out of here I want to call Kay I want her to get me out of this and I hurt and I want out of this and I want Jonathan back and I want them to stop and—'  _Shut. Up._

"I d'n'…" This one was even more broken. He flinched at another wave of nausea. He swallowed it down as best he could, cringing at the agony the simple action incited. When he opened his eyes and looked again, none of them had changed. They were still just staring at him. They all wore the same expression.

It didn't take long for it to sink in. The instant it did, he looked away, fighting to keep his face blank. Fighting not to let his panic and revulsion show blatantly. "No." His voice was thick.

" _What?"_ Decker crouched over him again. Cameron could feel the anger already radiating off of him, he didn't need to see it. " _What_  was that?" he spat.

The growing rage just made him start to crumble. He repeated himself, but reluctantly, and in more of a mewl. "…No." He tried to take in a deeper breath at his lungs started to burn. But it was a sharp gasp. Frightened and tiny. "No, 'm— please…'m—" He broke off in another splintered gasp when he felt a cold sting against his cheek. Decker applied just enough pressure for the shiv, already wet with blood, to begin to dig into the skin. Pain blossomed there, and Cameron was forced to keep his head still, or else end up turning the cut into a gash. He just flinched and gasped again.

Decker leaned in close again. "I'm only going to repeat myself  _one more time_ ," he snarled. "You're going to do  _whatever any_ of us say.  _When w_ e say it." Cameron choked when he pushed down just a little more, slicing into his skin to accentuate his point. Tears burned down his face as his chest was gripped tight in a mix of desperation and abhorrence. "Now. I can either put that tape back on your mouth and make sure that nobody will ever be able to recognize you again…" The blade was pulled down just the tiniest bit, to cut through his cheek and deliver the message. He choked, his back pressing flush against the wall. He cried out in pain, but his voice was so damaged it didn't even amount to anything. Decker took back the knife, looking at the two-inch long cut coldly. "Or you can  _start._ "

Cameron's vision was ruined by tears that were now streaming down his face. They left streaks of lighter pink behind in all the blood. His breathing was punctured and fast, but still weak, somehow. He kept his defensive curl for what felt like a long time but must have been only a handful of seconds. They all kept staring…all kept smiling. He cringed and hid his head behind his hands, as if he could shield himself from any of this. When he knew he had no choice. When he knew it was pointless. He only broke down more, when such a thing didn't even seem possible. He screwed his eyes shut. His shoulders shook, and his sobbing grew violent, but still it was mute— his throat was too ruined to function.

He kept frozen, his chest tearing in excruciating pain. In humiliation. In defeat.

Before he cringed and slowly uncurled. Gave up. Lost every scrap of fight he had left— and they had only been tiny scraps. Forced himself to move. Force himself to—

Cameron closed his eyes tightly, hanging his head down so low that his chin touched down against his chest. His shoulders curled inward, like he was cringing away in anticipation of a blow he wasn't sure would ever come. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears— he could feel the way he was shaking from head to toe. His breathing was getting more and more clenched…bordering on the edge of hysteria and hyperventilation. He was trying to get a hold of himself— to calm down and rip his thoughts back to where they belonged before it was too late.

But he couldn't. It was like when you missed a step going down the stairs, and you felt yourself start to fall. You reached out to try and grab onto the railing and stop yourself from falling any more, but he wasn't moving fast enough and so he couldn't stop it. But he would take anything. He'd do anything to stop it. So before he could think, his right hand flew out and grabbed tightly to his left. Immediately pain began to prickle back into life as the fractured bones yelped in pain. But it wasn't enough, and he clenched his teeth as tightly as he possibly could as he forced his fingers to dig down hard.

The discomfort turned to agony the moment he forced himself to increase the pressure. He locked his jaw and bit down on the inside of his cheek to try and choke back the scream that bottled itself at the back of his throat. He just breathed heavily through it, gasping and flinching as the knuckles of his right hand went white from his effort. It was blinding, and only caused the sick feeling in his stomach to multiply tenfold. But it grabbed him by the shoulders and it yanked him back to the present— to the pain that was here and now, not back then.

He kept digging in his fingers— hard enough to grind into the bones and hard enough to leave crescent marks behind in the skin. His breathing punctured and turned ragged; tears flooded hot into his eyes. He continued to press and bite down against the hurt for as long as he could. When it got to be too much, he was forced to let go. He brought his injured hand up against his chest and curled around it in agony, gasping and choking on every other inhale.

Over and over, he kept doing this. Paradoxically, his breathing beginning to slow the more pain he felt. It hurt, but at least it was hurting him  _now_. He repeated it over and over and over again, despite the fact that the agony only grew worse. He did it until the pain was  _all_ he could think of. Until everything else was derailed, and impossible to even grasp again. Until the sick feeling in his stomach was for the discomfort only, and until he couldn't hear any of the laughter bounce around in his head anymore. When he finally reached it, Cameron let out a shaking sigh of relief. He flinched and let go, closing his eyes tightly and choking on the pain hitting him in waves. And yet at the same time try and hang onto it for as long as he could.

"Cameron?"

He winced, but raised his head after a moment. He rubbed at his eyes when he did, in what he hoped was a barely-noticeable movement. But when he met Kay's eyes, he figured the effort was in vain. She was standing in the doorway, looking at him with something akin to hurt in her eyes. At first, she didn't talk— she just looked at him, like she knew exactly what he'd been doing, and maybe she did. But Cameron couldn't take the silence. "Yeah?" he mumbled.

A quick glance at the clock told him it was almost nine. She would be leaving soon, if she wasn't already on her way out. Maybe that was why she was here; she just stopped to say goodbye.

He tried to ignore the way the thought caused his chest to tighten significantly.

She looked at him a heartbeat more, her stare heavy. It looked like she wanted to say something…or at least, something more important than what ended up actually coming out. Because after her pause she blinked a few times and straightened, with the tiniest shake of her head. "I was just coming to…see how you were, I know…after what happened in the—"

"Can we just not talk about it?" Cameron asked.

And maybe it was the tone of voice he used when he said this. Maybe it was the look on his face, still pinched and twisted in the pain that was wrapped tight around his hand. Maybe it was the oppressing silence that swallowed everything once he did ask this. Or maybe it was just the way they were staring at each other, and everything that the both of them weren't saying. Maybe it was something else. But whatever the reason, after a brief hesitation, Kay nodded once. "Alright," she relented. Cameron was almost surprised. Neither of them said anything for a long time. They just held one another's gaze. Kay cleared her throat. " _Are_  you okay, though?"

His eyes flashed. Whatever courage he'd strummed up to be able to look at her for this long vanished, and he turned his stare back down to the blankets instead. Where it was safer. He sat with the question like he didn't speak English. Like he didn't even understand it. And in a way, he didn't. At the very least, he didn't know what his response should be. He knew what she  _wanted_ to hear. He knew what he  _wanted_ to say. But lately, it seemed like whatever he wanted didn't matter. That simply  _because_ he wanted something, he could only get the opposite. So his reply came out heavily, and soft. Hardly there. "No." She wilted. He tried not to notice. Add it to the list of things. Right above his voice— how he was attempting to ignore the fact it was so hollow and weak. "I'm not."

He couldn't look at her, and see the expression that would be on her face. Even though he probably knew exactly what it would be. He kept his eyes down, and tried to keep them from watering again. A few seconds passed with this confession hanging in the air, before the tiniest hint of a smile teased at the corner of his lips. But as it grew in strength, it grew in bitterness. And the light in his eyes only turned sadder. His voice was flimsy when he went on, possibly just to fill the silence, possibly to actually mean something. "I'm starting to think…I never will be," he offered in an almost dismissive way. Like it didn't matter.

She didn't respond. He looked back at her and saw that face he knew would be waiting for him. How sorrowful and remorseful and  _guilty_. Like she had any kind of part in all of this. When he turned to her, she searched his face, and he kept still. Trying to offer her an aloof smile but knowing for a fact it was useless. He could feel how weak it was on his face, and he could see how much it hurt her just to see. A few seconds of silence felt more like a few years. He was arming himself for some kind of lecture, or pep talk that would just end up making him feel worse. When she spoke up, and surprised him instead.

The question was reluctant, and tiny. It was barely allowed life in the first place. But it winded him, like it had been screamed at the top of her lungs. Nervousness now lingered in her gaze, right alongside her concern.

"Can I stay with you?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

It was easier than either of them anticipated. Cameron had been apprehensive…worried that the only reason Kay had asked in the first place was because she figured he wouldn't and she'd just do it herself. Like it was just something that was on her list to do, and she had to check it off to avoid trouble later on. He'd felt like a hassle, and he'd braced himself for the awkwardness he was sure would come after he said yes. But it never really did. When Kay came back in, this time in pajamas, and she shifted in underneath the covers. Cameron shuffled to the other side of the bed and made room, being careful not to touch her.

There was tension at first, but surprisingly it was only brief.

It could have been because Kay purposefully didn't bring up anything directly to him, or tried to force difficult conversation. It could have been because they were both tired and weren't really thinking about anything other than resting. Or maybe it could have been because Cameron was so relieved to have someone else in the room, and someone else to stay with and root himself to. But whatever the reason, it quickly became natural. They forgot everything else – the moment on the couch, the moment from this morning, even – and they just talked, quietly, and soft, in the dark lighting of the room.

"I do  _not_ believe that actually happened," Cameron laughed. He'd been mostly staring up at the ceiling, but he turned with this to look at Kay.

She softened just a little at the light that was in his eyes. But she shook her head. "It  _did_!" she defended. Cameron looked back up, his tiny smile lingering on his face. "And it's why Mike and I are banned from that bowling alley. Which is  _completely_ ridiculous, by the way," she tacked on, pretending to be much angrier than she actually was. It made Cameron laugh again, which made her own smile grow. "The hole in the wall was just a technicality."

"So you're saying if I go back there and look, there'll still be a hole there? I can see _evidence?"_

"Well I don't know if it's still  _there_ — I'm  _banned_ , I can't go _look_."

"Listen, you can say whatever you want about me, and most of it will  _probably_ be pretty true, but at least I've never been  _banned_  from anywhere before," Cameron pointed out.

"I find that very hard to believe."

" _Why?"_ But as soon as the question crossed his lips, Cameron made a face and he doubled back. "Okay, maybe I have, but I'll have to think on it because I must have forgotten."

Kay giggled, and Cam cracked yet another grin. Every single one was like a tiny success, to see. Though the two of them were still separated, there was less than an inch between their shoulders. But neither of them were even considering the proximity. She was just happy to see that he was so relaxed. To see him smile, and even hear him laugh— both things such rarities, nowadays. Like little treasures she was lucky to have found. She continued to look at him for a moment, watching as his smile faded more and more. Until it was gone completely, and his stare turned much soberer. The instant the grin was gone, she missed it. And the question fell quietly out of her mouth before she could stop and consider any possible repercussions. "Did you mean that?"

He blinked a few times, before he let his head fall to the side again. So he could look at her, and their eyes could meet. "Mean what?" he murmured.

"That you don't think you'll ever be okay again."

His face fell. He went silent. At first, she thought he wasn't going to answer her. She almost assured him that he didn't have to— not if it upset him. But the moment she opened her mouth he was speaking, though his words were only thin whispers. "I don't know." It sounded so hollow and hopeless. So polar opposite. "I haven't…felt okay yet…" It hurt Kay, both to hear him struggle and to also see it physically, on his face. But she kept silent, knowing that he deserved to be listened to. "And sometimes…I start to feel like maybe I can, but then…" He grimaced. "And it's  _frustrating_ , because I  _know_ it's not…that I'm…" He sighed. He closed his eyes for a long moment to try and collect himself. And when he opened them again, she could see they were much shinier, with unshed tears. "I haven't…felt like myself," he whispered, not looking at her anymore but not quite looking away, either. "And…I'm not sure I can ever…feel like myself again," he croaked.

It ripped her heart into two. Kay pressed her lips together against the tug in her chest. She didn't say a word— she only looked at him searchingly, like she was trying to study every little thing that made him  _him_. And she knew all those pieces…how could she not, after all the time they'd spent together? She knew all his pieces, she was confident, and she was also confident that they were still there. They were all still there.  _He w_ as still there. She knew it for a fact. But she also knew that he didn't see himself the way she saw him. Not anymore. She  _wished_ he did. She would give anything for that to be the case. And yet…

Kay shifted just the tiniest bit closer, to close that miniscule gap that had existed between them up to now. She reached out, moving slow on purpose because now she knew better. She was allowing ample time for a refusal. For him to snap at her to get away, or to even move so that she didn't even have the chance to touch him. But he didn't do any of that. Once Cameron realized what she was doing, he moved closer as well, and he let her wrap him up in a gentle hug. He put his arms around her too, his hold much tighter than the hold she dared to put him in. She felt him rest his head against her shoulder like he had before. She did the same.

It was like second nature, how the two of them reverted back to this.

It was a long time before Kay dared to speak. "I know you're the same," she murmured. Cameron's grasp on her grew just the slightest bit tighter. "And I know you'll be okay." She sounded absolutely positive. Like she'd already seen it. But it was just because she knew that she wouldn't be able to rest until he was. Until Cameron was smiling and laughing all the time, and not just these little moments. Until he was bugging everyone with magic tricks and telling stupid jokes and sleeping through every single night because there wasn't anything keeping him from doing so. Until he was free of all of this. He would get there, and she would help him to. They all would.

Cameron sat with this reassurance, trying to take it in. Curling up close to Kay, and not able to actually see her face, made it easier to talk. He just stared straight ahead, letting his mouth move without a filter, as he concentrated more on the feeling of having someone close to him. Someone he  _wanted_ to be close to, who was only there to help. Whose touch was soft and gentle. And soothing. "I can't even look at myself," he rasped. Kay's eyes flashed raw with pain, but she said nothing. "I can't…look in the mirror, I just…" There was another brief pause, before a final confession wormed its way out. "I can't even look at my arm…" She almost didn't hear it, it was so quiet. Even though she was so close.

She closed her eyes. She didn't know what to say. She knew that whatever she  _could_ say wouldn't come close to helping— not right now. She knew she didn't understand a single thing he was going through, or how hard it was for him. She probably couldn't even understand a fraction of it. She held him just the tiniest bit tighter, and she moved to rub comforting circles on his upper back. It wasn't much, and she didn't even know if it would help. But Cameron didn't pull away. He only sagged into her more. She heard him sniff quietly, and her heart twisted.

A few minutes passed like this, neither of them saying anything. Kay trying her best to offer him any type of comfort she could, and Cameron trying his best to  _receive_  anything he could. After a while, her eyes flashed. She took her arm back to herself and she scooted back a couple centimeters so that she could see him. She settled her head down so that they were sharing the same pillow. Cameron's eyes were still watering, and she could see a few tracks left behind by apparently silent tears. But she gave him a soft smile all the same.

"Once I was late to class," she offered. Cameron frowned, looking confused at the sudden change in topic. But he didn't interrupt her— he only watched as she moved to fold her arm back a little awkwardly. She pointed at her elbow. "I was running across campus and it had snowed the night before, so ice was still all over the sidewalk. But of course, I wasn't thinking about that at all. I ended up slipping and falling onto the concrete…I ripped my elbow open completely. Blood was everywhere. I still went to class, of course." Cameron cracked a tiny grin, and she followed suit. "You should have seen it— I walked in and tried to take my seat…I was holding my elbow, blood was dripping down my arm…and I was about to start taking notes. My professor had to yell at me to get me to go see the nurse. And even  _then_ , I didn't want to." She tilted her own head so she could see, but sure enough she was pointing to the scar left behind. A darker patch of skin that was hardly visible. "You can still kind of see it."

Cameron shifted closer. She smiled and showed her hand instead. "This was from when I was seven or eight…I touched a hot pan after I was told over and over again not to."

He looked at the thin, whiteish line. A cautious smile traced over his face. " _You_  not listening to  _rules_?" he mused. "I thought you were  _born_ lecturing people about listening."

"Shut up." She grinned, fondness and relief alike mingling together at his teasing. She reached across herself to peel back her short sleeve and show her shoulder. " _This_ one…was from one of my first cases. The guy had a knife, and I wasn't quick enough to stop him before he could get too close." It was just a thin line. More noticeable than the others, but still fairly faint. Cameron was looking at it intently, though. "It didn't go very deep at all. It hurt…but I got him in the end. I haven't made the same mistake twice, at least."

Cameron still studied it. After a second or two, almost absently, he reached out and ran his fingers over it like she had done to the cut on his forehead. He seemed distracted as he did, like he was thinking of something else. She didn't react to his feather-light touch. She just looked at him. At how troubled he seemed, underneath the layer of apathy he was trying to upkeep. How his mouth was pulled down into a small frown, and his eyes were filled with a certain degree of pain she wasn't sure she could find the source of. Or ever even be able to wrap her head around. Her own expression turned strained the longer she studied him.

Cameron was gentle, as he moved his fingers back and forth over the mark. As if there was a risk of hurting her from an injury inflicted so long ago. He'd been studying it carefully, but his eyes eventually flickered to hers. She weakened at the heartache that was waiting for her there. A long stretch of silence passed, where they just held the other's gaze. Before something in Cameron's expression changed, and he moved to show his left arm. He rolled up his sleeve and showed his forearm, where a small white mark was stretching for about three inches.

"I think I got this one when I was two. I was probably doing something stupid…I think my dad said I was running and I fell against something in the house." Kay giggled, and he brightened a tad. But once he began to continue, his voice grew softer. "I always thought it was weird…I mean…you can barely see it, but…it was something _I_  had that Jonathan didn't. He didn't fall, with me. It was…something that was different, between the two of us." The longer he spoke, the more distracted he grew. Kay wilted, and against her better judgement, her eyes travelled away from his upper arm, down to his wrist. She looked at the bruises that were there. Refusing to go away.

He caught her staring. She looked back up a little guiltily when she realized he was watching her. She started to apologize, but he was whispering before she had the chance. "Now there's too much…" Her face fell. His eyes flickered away. There was that shame again…the horrible kind of embarrassment she hated to see on his face. The defeat in his voice went hand in hand. "I'm…just…"

"Hey…" She reached up, moving before she could stop and think about whether or not he would have wanted her to. She put a hand gently against the side of his face. He dragged his eyes back to her when she did. He was wearing a ghost of a grimace. But he didn't object to her. She softened and shook her head, running her thumb back and forth a little bit across his cheek. "You're not  _just_ anything," she objected gently.

Predictably, the comfort did little for him. In fact, it only seemed to make it worse. His eyes grew shinier in the dark. His lips trembled— she could see the effort it was taking him to stay collected enough to speak clearly. Though his voice was much thicker, and noticeably so. "You don't know," he whispered. He picked up on her disbelief, because he repeated himself. A little louder— a little harder. "You  _don't._  Kay. You don't know what…"

It didn't seem like he could finish. But that was fine. "I don't need to," she reassured. He seemed strained, but she was more than certain. "I don't need to know anything. I just need to know  _you_."

"If you knew, you wouldn't want me." It was stated plainly, and like it didn't matter. But she could see the tears he was holding back. She could see how hard it was for him…was it hard because it was just difficult to say? Or was it hard because he wished it would be different? Was it hard because he wanted her as much as she wanted him? Was it wrong of her to even wonder that, right now? Of course it was. Cameron's voice was getting more and more choked. His throat wasn't helping keep it clear at all. "You would change your mind," he pressed.

"I wouldn't," she argued. " _Nothing_  you could say would change my mind."

Both of them were still speaking in low whispers. Not daring to inch their volume any louder.

He closed his eyes. It was just easier for him not to see her. He said nothing, but she wilted at the distress that was so evident on his face, and only growing. She allowed him the space to stop and breathe through it, but the longer the silence stretched the more pained he seemed to get. Until he took his arms away from where they were laced around her. She immediately took her own back, and he forced himself to sit up. He did so too quickly, and the room was quick to spin. Kay sat up as well, trying to steady him when she saw him sway. But he was already moving.

He turned and grabbed the sleeve of his right arm, and before she could say anything, or even really realize what he was doing, he hiked it up in one harsh yank. He didn't dare look at down at himself. He just stared at her, glaring, because it was easier to pretend it was anger burning him alive and not humiliation. Her eyes went wide. Only a fraction, but it was only because she couldn't help it. She knew the injury that was waiting, but she hadn't been able to brace herself for it enough. It ripped the wind right out of her.

She had seen it before, but that had been so long ago, by now. Cameron had always kept it covered, whether that be with gauze or with his sleeves. It hadn't changed…so it still caused her stomach to writhe with horror and sorrow. The 'S' was still there, it just wasn't saturated in blood like before. The stitches were gone, and it just left the skin underneath to glare out red. It was still so different from the rest of his arm. It hadn't yet faded to the pale white it would eventually become. It was still irritated and recovering. It made her skin crawl to see. To think about what had taken place to get that where it was now, and where it would stay forever.

Her eyes began to burn. She stared for ages before she ripped herself away to look up at Cameron instead. He was still glaring at her, refusing to even glance away, for fear of what he might see. He was crying. Silently, and she could tell that he hated himself for it. But he was. He kept his arm extended out towards her. When he spoke, his words were choked and curt. "I was—" He almost said it. The weight of it was there. It hung between them, trying to force its way out. But apparently Cameron couldn't let it. It only made his eyes shine brighter, and his voice to turn even more brittle. He had to take in a quick gasp and look away before he could continue. "What do you need me to say?" he practically spat out. Kay's face fell. He didn't see. "What do I need to tell you to get you to  _understand?_ Do you  _really_  need me to  _say it?"_

"I already understand," she soothed, trying to make sure her voice was controlled and gentle at the same time. "Cameron, I  _already_  understand, you don't need to say anything. But it doesn't matter— I told you, all I want is to help you. If you don't—"

"That's not the  _point_!" he protested. She immediately shut up, letting him speak. He rushed on. "That's not the point!" he repeated, the tears rushing down his face, now. Ever since that night on the couch, too many things had gone unsaid. Now, it was spilling all at once. There was no stopping it. "You deserve someone that can— that can  _eat_! You deserve someone that can sleep without waking up screaming, you deserve someone that's  _normal!_ You deserve someone  _better_  than me— I'm not the person you think you have feelings for! I'm not!" The more upset he got, the harder it was to speak properly. He looked back at her, and the expression on his face was enough to make her chest rip in pain. "Not anymore! I'm— …I'm  _different, a_ nd you're  _waiting_ for me to get back to the way I  _was_ , but  _what if that never happens!?_ What if you never  _stop_ waiting!? What if we  _both…never_  stop waiting!?"

Her first tear fell, tracing its way down her face. She didn't brush it away. "I'm not waiting for anything, Cameron," she whispered eventually. He weakened even more. "I'm… _hoping…_ but I'm not  _waiting_."

"There's not a difference," he objected. "You shouldn't even be doing that— you should be  _leaving_. You should have  _left_ me already."

Her mind was so blank with shock, all she could get out was: "Do you… _want_ me to leave?"

Something about the question seemed to rub him the wrong way. He cringed and shook his head. "I'm dragging everyone down with me," he hissed. She started to object but he was already launching forward. "I split up the team, Dina hasn't slept in weeks, I can't even be happy that Jonathan—" He pressed his lips together tightly and had to pause for a moment before he could go on. He was even more congested once he did. "I'm ruining everything, and I don't want to ruin  _you_  too. You deserve to be happy, and instead you're babysitting me because I can't do a single thing for myself anymore, and you're pretending everything is fine and making it seem like it doesn't bother you, and I don't want you to keep having to—"

"It  _doesn't_ bother me, Cameron, I—"

" _It should!"_ he interrupted. She cringed. "It  _should_ bother you! This  _whole thing_  should bother you! It should bother you that I can't do anything anymore! It should bother you I can't go a day without throwing a fit like I'm some stupid kid! That I can't be how I used to be, that  _everything_ makes me upset, now!" He inhaled sharply again, the breath hitching on its way down. He was crying harder, now. "It should bother you that you have to see this!" He raised his arm more, still unable to look at it himself. She was fighting to keep herself as composed as possible. "It should bother you that I pushed you when you kissed me!"

Kay was silent, but her lips were shaking.

Cameron's were shaking harder, though. She thought his voice was already ruined. But it was nothing compared to the way it was absolutely shattered into pieces when he said this next part. "It should bother you that I did whatever they asked me to!" Her mouth ran dry. The expression he wore now was filled with an amount of pain and suffering she wouldn't even wish on her worst enemy. "It should bother you that I  _gave up!_  That I stopped fighting and just— …I just—!"

"Cameron…" Her voice was weak, and it took a while for her to actually get it back. "Cameron, it wasn't your  _fault_ ," she whispered. She reached out, as if to touch him. "It wasn't your  _fault_ , Cameron, you didn't—"

"It  _was_!" he yelled. She jerked back immediately. Her heart broke as she watched him tense and curl away. He closed his eyes. "It  _was_ my fault! The  _whole thing_  was my fault! I did  _everything_  wrong! If I hadn't treated Jonathan the way I did—!"

"Cameron.  _Stop it_." She almost sounded angry at him, her voice was so tense.

He wasn't listening. "If I hadn't treated Jonathan the way I did, he wouldn't have left me! And if I hadn't gone to visit him that day and if I hadn't covered up the camera, he wouldn't have been able to switch us! And if I hadn't gone up to them in the first place, and if I hadn't done anything, and if I'd just taken my own  _stupid advice_ —!" Kay tried to stop him again, but it was pointless. He took in a harsh gasp and kept sobbing. "And if I hadn't made Jonathan do the Las Vegas trick, none of this would have happened and everything would be fine! If I hadn't forced him to keep performing when he didn't want to—" His breathing was getting sharper, his hands were beginning to tremble.

She couldn't let him keep going. She had to stop him. "Cameron! Cameron, shhh! Shhh…" He clamped his mouth shut, hunching like he was in severe pain. And he was— she  _knew_ he was. She knew he was suffering, and all she wanted was to take at least a little bit of that suffering away from him. But it seemed like for every step forward, there were two steps back. She guided his face gently so their eyes could meet, and she ached at the resignation she saw in his heartbroken gaze once they did. "Cameron…you're wrong," she murmured weakly. At least he didn't look away. "I know you're upset and I know it hurts to hear, but you  _have_ to see that you're wrong. About  _everything_. And if you  _don't_  know it, you just have to trust that I  _do_."

Cameron said nothing. She didn't take her hands away. Along one cheek was a healing cut, scarring over. Her eyes burned as she wondered, not unlike every other injury, how it had gotten there. Who had hurt him, and hurt him so horribly. Her thumb traced it, gently and lightly. "It wasn't your fault," she murmured. "It should never have happened, Cameron, it should  _never have happened to you._ You couldn't have known. It's not fair for you to blame yourself for something you couldn't prevent." He looked dangerously close to arguing. She wouldn't have it. "All those cases we had together— did you blame the victims?" He snapped his mouth closed and grimaced. Albeit painful, it was the exact response she'd been hoping for. "Did you blame the person that was murdered? Did you blame the museum, for their paintings being stolen?"

He couldn't answer. So she did it for him.

"Not once. Not  _once_ …you just wanted to help them. You just wanted to  _help them_ , Cameron, and now you need to help  _yourself_." Her lips shook. Her eyebrows pulled together in pain. "You've helped me— you've  _saved_  me…I just want to do the same for you. That's all I want. I want you to see yourself the way I see you…because I still see you. I see  _you_." She smiled, as watery and flimsy as it was. "I still see the annoying magician that messes with his cards when I'm trying to get his attention. The person that still loves their team and treats them like family. The person that's always thinking of other people before he thinks of himself and doesn't even question it. I still see everything about you. Because it's still there. It's _all_  still there."

His breathing was slowing, but tears were still filling his eyes. One managed to escape and fall down the side of his face; she simply brushed it away. "So I'm not  _waiting_  for anything, Cameron. I have nothing to wait  _for_." She didn't know when to stop herself. If she even could— if she even had to. But, at the very least of it all, she didn't want Cameron to keep replaying this mantra in his head. Unable to accept comfort from her because the voice in the back of his mind whispered he wasn't enough. "That day I came into the Archive and I thought I talked to you…but I really talked to Jonathan…I told him that I didn't want to be just an FBI agent to him. I wanted to be something  _more_. I told it to the wrong person. Now I can tell it to the  _right one_ , which is what I should have done before I did anything else. Because I still mean it. I  _do_. Not because I feel bad, not because I feel like I have to…and not because I'm only thinking about the past. But because I  _still_  mean it, right here and right now. Because it's  _you_. Because you're not a burden, you're  _so much more than that_  to me."

His expression only broke more. His eyes were searching hers, like they were trying to find the loose thread that they could tug on and unravel the whole thing. They sat there like that for a while, just staring at one another. The anxiety she felt was the exact same apprehension she'd felt looking at Jonathan, waiting for this same type of response. Choking, but all too familiar. And, just like she had to do before, she was forced to keep speaking once she was met with only silence. "But it's okay," she said gently. She shook her head. "I told you, Cameron…it doesn't matter. I completely understand…I'm just trying to get you to see that nothing's changed. And that I could never think of you as anything other than the friend I want to help. And support. I don't want anything from you other than for you to be happy. I don't want you to worry about hurting me…or what I'm thinking. I don't want you to worry about anything at all. I just want you to feel okay again."

He blinked, and another tear fell. It looked as though he was having to try not to let his expression break, at this point. "It's not fair," he whispered eventually. It wasn't fair— it wasn't fair for him to do this. To snap at her to leave him alone, and call her the next night, drunk at a bar and begging for her to pick him up. To shove her off of him when she kissed him, and then expect her to hold him so he could sleep. To know that she cared for him much more than she  _should_ , knowing he couldn't be enough for her, and yet continuing to do things like this. Continuing to focus on her so that he could root himself down in reality, continuing to reap comfort from her touch like he was doing right this very second, continuing to  _need_ her.

He  _needed_ her.

Like a plant needed water, or sunlight.

But Kay took the words to mean something else. Her eyes flashed with just the tiniest bit of hurt, and she nodded once. "I know…you're right. You're right, I'm…I'm sorry." She took her hands away. Though they'd only applied the tiniest of pressure, Cameron felt the difference immediately. Like a blanket had been ripped off of him suddenly, leaving him cold. "It's not fair for me to say it again, I just…wanted you to know I couldn't…change my mind." In looking away from him, her eyes caught once more on the wound in his arm. The carving she didn't know the source of. That she wanted to know the source of, and yet at the same time knew if she did, she would be sick. Silence pushed down on both their shoulders. Her expression went crestfallen. "Does it still hurt?"

"…No," Cameron answered. He still didn't look down at it. Kay watched as he tugged his sleeve back down, to hide it away again. Her chest ached. She wished everything else could stop hurting, too. She wished everything else was just as easy…just wait a few weeks for the pain to go away. For it to start feeling like nothing had even happened. But she knew even this wasn't that simple. That that was the reason he couldn't bring himself to look at it. Because when he did, he would remember what brought that injury in the first place, and he would feel it just as palpably as if it was still bleeding. In a way, this injury was still just as unhealed as everything else was. This was just something he could actually hide from himself.

Her eyes lingered on his arm even after he tugged his sleeve down. But eventually, she repeated her question from before. "Do you want me to leave, Cameron?" He would be well within his rights to tell her yes. She'd promised herself she wouldn't bring up her feelings again. Because he was right— it  _wasn't_ fair to force this situation on him when he was already dealing with so much. He didn't need anything else right now. She wouldn't be mad, only disappointed in herself. And she was already prepared for the yes. She was already moving as if to take the covers off and shift out of the bed. She could go back to the couch, or even leave and go back home, to give him the space he'd want.

But she didn't get the answer she was bracing for. She got something horribly different.

"It doesn't matter what I want." She stiffened and turned, to see that he was still crying. That the resignation was back on her face, but now she realized just how hollow it was. He looked anguished when their eyes met. She was too caught off-guard to speak at first. So he had the chance to continue. "You  _should_ leave. It doesn't matter what I want." He said it a second time, and it hurt her just as much as it did the first.

All the same, after only a couple seconds of silence, she managed to speak.

"Of course it matters," she whispered. "It matters to  _me_."

His eyes flashed as even more water welled up in them.

"What do you want me to do, Cameron?" Kay pressed.

The look on his face was difficult to meet, it seemed so tortured. Like he was being put through physical pain, and he could barely breathe through it, let alone answer her question. It took him a very long time to grasp the words he was looking for. Even when he did, he wasn't sure they were the right ones. "I want you to stay," he managed weakly. She sobered, her expression clearing with the request. His only weakened, though. "I want you to stay with me." Even though she shouldn't. Even though he knew she deserved more. Even though he was being selfish just by asking.

Kay softened; slowly she smiled. "And  _I_ want to stay with  _you_ ," she returned.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

From then on, it was second nature. Neither of them even had to say anything, or establish a routine. It just became one by itself. Every night, they would do just that: they would stay together. They had their agreed upon sides in the bed: Kay always took the left, closest to the door, and Cameron had the right side. But it didn't matter, because they would always end up shifting into the middle so they could wrap their arms around each other. They would talk about anything and everything – as long as they were both careful not to stray into difficult territory – until they would get too tired to. Until their voices grew muddled, and until their words grew more and more separated with tiny yawns.

Cameron would never try and fight the need to sleep like he had been. He would give into it willingly, often being the first to. Kay would feel him relax completely and sag into her, and she would feel that same relief each time. She'd follow suit and they'd both fall asleep like that: holding one another safely and securely. Sometimes Cameron would sleep through the entire night. Sometimes it wouldn't be as effective and Kay would be roused by tiny mumbles or noises of fear. She'd always wake him up immediately, soothing away the fear that would be rampant in his expression with whispered reassurances that everything was fine. Sometimes he just fell back asleep. Other times they would stay up and Kay would talk, giving something for Cameron to listen to and focus on.

The point was, that he was sleeping again. It was rocky, and it was unsure, but he was sleeping. The bags under his eyes weren't nearly as bruise-like. He wasn't as unsteady on his feet, and he didn't stare off into space or drift off into sporadic five-second naps like he had. And he was eating more. Not full meals, and never three a day, but he would eat when he was asked to and it wasn't as much of a struggle for him to. The two biggest recent problems were slowly waning…he was still quiet, still sad, still refusing to ask about Jonathan or turn on the television or speak of practically anything. But he was eating and he was sleeping, so Kay wasn't about to push her luck.

The days passed like this, and they passed slowly. Cameron made marginal progress little by little, and both Kay and Dina chalked each one up as a huge success. Gunter and Jordan were still banished, and so the place felt a little emptier than it usually did. But it was agreed upon that until this whole thing was figured out, it would be better to have space. Eventually there would be a decision made— there would be things that would have to happen and be sorted through. That could just be added onto the list of it all. In the moment at hand, they were in limbo, and limbo was where they were going to stay.

Currently, the three of them were in the kitchen. Kay had come back from work around an hour ago, though no mention at all had been made of how her day had gone. They'd just finished eating dinner, which was served at a rather late time thanks to the fact Dina timed it for when Kay got there. It wasn't anything fancy— just a stir-fry that she'd thrown together in a rush. Cameron had eaten a little over half of it before he'd been unable to get down any more. Now they were just cleaning up. Kay was telling a story about how one time in college her dormmate had made ramen noodles using only a lightbulb and a hammer, when Dina suddenly interjected.

"Oh  _no_!" Kay stopped talking immediately, and Cameron looked a little alarmed as he tore his gaze from her. Dina was standing by the sink, pressing her hands into her forehead. She looked exasperated. "I forgot to get dish soap," she grumbled, disappointment replacing the surprise as she let her arms drop down to her sides. She said this like someone might say: 'I forgot to pack food for our four-month-journey into the desert.' Initially one would assume the severity between the two situations didn't exactly line up. But certainly if you heard the alarm in her voice, you would doubt such a fact just like Kay and Cameron began to.

Dina just stared at the sink in frustration that was only mounting. Kay frowned. "Dish soap?"

"Dish soap," she repeated, in a hollow exhale. "I keep forgetting to get some." Cameron said nothing, but his eyes followed hers. He wilted at the sight of all the plates and pots and pans that were piled up. It looked like a mess. His eyes flickered back to Dina, and he deflated even more as he looked at the exasperation that was on her face. He turned and swept over the rest of the place. Usually it was spotless…now, he was just realizing how messy it had gotten. It wasn't horrible, but it was noticeable. Stacks of mail thrown aside and forgotten, cups sitting out on the table, blankets still left out on the couch…cleaning had slipped everyone's mind. In the wake of all this, it'd been pushed to the back burner.

The distress on her face was telling enough, but guilt swamped him entirely when she shook her head, moving to add to the pile and put the dishes from tonight in as well. "I meant to get some when I went out for medicine, it just— I got distracted I guess. I'll go back, I'll finish this, I just need to— I just had too much to do, I could have sworn that I grabbed it though, I…" She closed her eyes for a second, taking in a slow breath. A wince started to crawl over Cameron's face. He knew this wasn't just about dishes. It was about everything. It was about everything that they'd had to do, and everything they'd had to worry about on his behalf, since he'd gotten back here.

Dina was constantly running around, trying to do anything she could to help. She was running in and out of pharmacies, buying everything from pain medication to melatonin, struggling to actually find something that would work. She was going to the store every day and stockpiling on different foods, trying to find one that he would eat. She'd put her own need for support aside and shoved Gunter and Jordan out of the house, so that their yelling would stop making things worse…ultimately forcing herself to take on even more responsibility. He knew she was keeping the world out— she was ripping up newspapers and throwing them away in the morning before he got up.

She was doing a lot. So maybe it wasn't such a stretch to assume this tiny setback didn't feel so tiny to her.

He looked over at Kay, and the guilt kept layering. She looked tired, too. The both of them looked strained and worn, and he knew he was the one responsible for that. That he put that feeling there. He looked down at the table, his face falling as Kay offered: "I can get some. You don't have to go out again."

Dina was already shaking her head, pushing herself away from the counter and heading over to where she kept her purse. "No, no, I can go, it's no trouble, I was the one who forgot in the first place."

Cameron looked up and watched as Kay started to follow after. "I can go with you," she offered, obviously having picked up on the same kind of nerves that Cameron had. "We can—" She stopped midsentence. She looked back at Cameron and jolted when their eyes met. When she realized he was already look her way. She frowned. Ducked away and turned back to Dina and continued awkwardly: "Or…I mean—"

"It's fine," Dina said quickly, looking between the two of them and noticing Cameron's reaction. "I can go by myself, I don't need anyone to—"

"You should go." The both of them looked at Cameron immediately. He blinked a couple times, before he pasted a smile on his face. It was weak, and it didn't quite reach his eyes. Not many of his smiles did anymore, really. He shook his head and shrugged a little bit. "Go. You don't have to stay here."

Kay stared at him open-mouthed. She was trying to figure out what to say, but it was escaping her.

Dina managed the feat. But only a little bit. And not very helpfully. "Cameron, she doesn't…you…"

"Go," Cameron repeated, a little louder, and a little harder. He couldn't ignore the sting of embarrassment he got when they just blanked on him and he could see their thoughts just as clearly as if they'd written him down. How they still saw him as a kid that needed someone within fifty feet of them at all times, or else they might fall down the stairs, hit their head, and die. How he knew that the worry, as stupid and pathetic as it was, wasn't unfounded.

Kay cleared her throat and gave him a grin. It was just as passable as his. "Do you want to come?"

"You two can go." The words were flat, and they were final.

Kay and Dina glanced at each other, both uncertain. But it wasn't like they could fight. Not with the uncomfortable look that was already on Cameron's face, and only growing stronger the longer this was dragged on. Kay coughed again, and eventually nodded. "Okay," she murmured. Dina's stare lingered on Cameron for a few moments more. Kay moved so that she could brush against her arm as she walked past, to encourage her not to be so obvious. "We'll just…be right back, then."

Cameron said nothing, his eyes just tracked them out. There was a sullen frown on his face.

They made for the door, and he thought they were out. Before Dina glanced back at him and asked: "Are you sure you don't want to come?"

He turned away from them entirely, ducking his head a little so he could reach up and rub at his forehead. He refused to turn back around, and after a few seconds, he heard the door click shut. It seemed to echo and bounce off the walls. He grimaced at the sound. It seemed louder than it really should have been. Or maybe the silence that followed it was the thing that seemed louder. Whichever one it was, he didn't like it. It was uncomfortable.

He shifted with unease. He grimaced and looked up from the table, to the wall opposite him. He propped his head up on his unfractured hand, and then he straightened again and let his arm fall back to the table. He looked down and picked at his sleeve, hunching over so he could put his head down. He only stayed there for a couple of seconds before the pressure that wrapped around his sides got too uncomfortable and he pushed back up with a grimace. He took in a much bigger and slower breath than normal, and he tried to look around to distract himself. But it wasn't a good distraction.

He realized this was the first time he'd actually been left alone. Like,  _actually_. He'd been alone in his room, but he'd always known that just down the hall, probably passing by every five minutes really, someone was there. The house wasn't  _empty_. It wasn't just him there. Now, it was. He couldn't hear someone walking, or the sound of faint talking from around the corner. The silence was earsplitting. Like there was absolutely nothing there.

Like all he could do was stare ahead and just wait for something to happen.

Like he had when—

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"It's a ghost town," Kay murmured.

"Good." She turned and glanced at Cameron, unable to hide the concern that lingered in the very back of her gaze. He wasn't looking at her, though; he was looking at the store— at the empty halls with a kind of apprehension that made it seem like he was waiting for someone to jump out of the aisles and run screaming towards them. Thanks to good old anxiety, by the time Cameron had rushed outside, tugging his coat on haphazardly, Dina and Kay had still been getting into the car. He hadn't said much at all, and the stiff look that had been on his face did well to ward off any questions they might have had. He'd worn the look the entire way here, and he was still wearing it now.

"It's almost closing," Dina offered, already steering for the section with dish soap and laundry detergent. The other two followed. Cameron was walking a little closer to Kay than he typically did. The hood of his coat was still drawn up around his face. "You know what, while we're here there's a couple other things we might as well stop and get so we don't have to come all the way back out here tomorrow…" Kay didn't reply; she was too busy watching Cameron in her peripheral vision. There was a tiny frown on her face. Hardly noticeable. The memory of the last time they'd gone out was heavy in the air between each of them. The threat of something else happening was just as blatant.

Kay drafted a smile up onto her face. "You don't like shopping?" she prodded.

Cameron glanced at her. He seemed to hesitate over his reply.

It left a gap for Dina to answer. "Are you joking?" Cameron looked back at her, but her expression was fond, and overly so. She glanced at him and smiled. "Cameron loves every store, no matter what it is. We hardly go out with him in the first place because he just gets lost, and it takes ages for us to drag him out." He shot her a look, but it only made her smile more. This, of course, weakened Cameron's attempted glare and started to bring a grin over his own face. "But we can't let him go by  _himself,_ because then he would buys the inventory and comes home with the most ridiculous things. He's an absolute nightmare."

"I don't  _do_ that," Cameron objected.

"Cameron, one time you went out to go get  _milk, a_ nd somehow you ended up coming back home with an iPad."

Kay snorted. Cameron's eyes went wide and he threw his arms out at his sides floppily. "Okay, but did Jordan  _complain w_ hen I did? Now he never gets off of it, so I think the words you're looking for is: 'Thank you.'" Dina rolled her eyes. Cameron grinned more and kept going. "'Thank you so much, Cameron,'" he gushed, adopting a very dramatic, very  _bad_ accent and raising his voice about two octaves, which didn't really work in the first place with his throat. All the same he didn't stop once the other two started laughing. "'Thank you for constantly being nice and bringing back cool things even though everyone is always mean to you all the time. You're a Saint.' I think that's what you meant to say."

"Don't do that Cameron," Dina admonished, turning into the aisle and starting to look for the soap they typically used.

"Don't do what?"

"Accents. You're bad at them."

"I'm  _not_ though!" he squeaked. An actual squeak, which Kay wasn't sure whether to laugh at or cringe away from. He was still smiling though, so she decided not to dwell on it. "I'm _so_  good at accents. Or changing my voice in general. I fooled Kay that one time." She gave him a look and he revised himself with a reluctant dip of the head. "For like a minute. But that's impressive when you consider it's Kay," he rushed to add. Her expression softened at this, and his eyes flickered to her. Briefly, his smile turned warmer as well. Neither of them looked away— it was like they couldn't. Or neither of them wanted to be the first to.

Dina was still scanning the shelves; she didn't catch the exchange. "Your British one is awful," she just commented, and that was enough to get Cameron to wrench his head back front. He looked outraged— genuinely hurt. None of the affection was lost on Kay's face. In fact, it only grew as she leaned back, watching him as he shot a sour glare at his producer.

"My British accent is  _perfect_ ," he argued. "I could  _be_ British."

"I don't think so," Dina returned, disagreeing just to disagree at this point. She flashed him a teasing look, which he very clearly did not appreciate. Finally, she found the specific brand that she was looking for. As she was picking it up, however, her eyes flashed and she did a little jump. "Oh, hang on— while we're here." Kay was trying to remember herself what they were out of. Doing it all in one fell swoop would be much easier than carting themselves all the way back. But…Cameron  _was_ out of the house. And he was enjoying it…or at least he wasn't miserable. He was talking and joking. Maybe saving some things for another trip out wouldn't be the worst idea…

"Hang on, I'll be right back I have to see if they have any," Dina was saying. Kay shook herself in just enough time to step to the side and clear the way for her. She watched her friend rush off with a little bit of bemusement, wondering if they were meant to follow. She hadn't even heard what she was on the lookout for— had Cameron?

As if he could read her mind, she straightened at his voice. "Kay."

She turned, to see him holding another container of soap. A different one than Dina had chosen, and he held it out towards her. "I don't know why Dina was so bent on getting that other one; this one smells better; try it." She tilted her head to the side, leaning out towards him and trying to see what he was talking about. No sooner did she lean down, though, did Cameron suddenly squeeze the middle and squirt it. She jumped backwards, but it still got on her coat. Her eyes went huge, with surprise and indignation alike. But Cameron was cracking up immediately, almost falling over, which just made her flare even more.

"Cameron!" she whined. He just kept laughing, and she was having to try and keep from smiling as she tried to wipe the mess off. "What the heck!"

"I don't know why you actually did it!" he gasped. "That's like the oldest trick in the book, I thought you were in the FBI."

She shot him a glare, but she couldn't quite manage it. He was still giggling, and a wide beam was on his face. She couldn't not smile, and once she started to, she just gave up and let it happen. She shook her head instead, looking down and trying to wipe off the soap as best she could. "You're ridiculous," she snapped, and he laughed even more. "You're a  _child_ , I think the last time someone tried to do that to me I was in middle school."

"So you fell for it  _before now_? Oh, Kay, that just makes it worse," he said in mock disappointment.

She looked at him crossly. "Did you  _open that_?" Completely innocent, he placed it back on the shelf. She put her hands on her hips. "Cameron, you're not supposed to open those!" she hissed.

She couldn't remember the last time Cameron had laughed this long. Even though in hindsight it wasn't very long at all, it was still the most she'd heard him in weeks. She didn't realize how much she'd missed the sound of it. How much she was clinging to it while it was still here. "What are you gonna do,  _arrest me_?" he snickered, flashing her a mischievous look. However, as soon as the words left his mouth, he stopped short, like he was just now realizing what he'd said. Kay had been laughing along with him, but she sobered the instant he did. His eyes rounded out a little, and his expression fell. The humorous glint in his eye was gone at once, and it was replaced with something close to remorse instead. He pressed his lips together tightly. And turned away from her before she could speak, suddenly very intent on making sure the dish soap was put back in the exact position he'd retrieved it from.

Kay's shoulders drooped, and sorrow gripped her chest with unexcepted ferocity as the glimpse of normalcy was ripped away. It hurt worse, now…after seeing him so happy, so carefree. With the second's difference, it was even harder to look at the empty expression on his face. She wilted…trying to come up with something to say that would recover at least a little bit of the lightheartedness. She would take anything. But Cameron was already turning and walking past her, out of the aisle where Dina had gone. She stood still for a few moments, staring dismally at the shelves. Before she scrounged up the courage to turn and follow.

Cameron had stopped at the end of the aisle; he looked a little lost and she could see why. Coming up to his side, Kay couldn't see Dina, or figure out where she'd headed. She hadn't been paying attention before, if she'd mentioned what was on her mind, and clearly Cameron had been just as aware. She glanced at him, not liking the dulled expression he'd regained— it was too close to the one he'd had in the car ride over here. His eyes were flickering over the store. If only to break the silence, she prompted: "Do you remember where she said she was going?"

"No," Cameron sighed. It looked like he was back to wanting to leave. Like a light switch, he'd been flipped. He kept looking around. "Maybe…she was complaining this morning, about—"

He stopped before he got the chance to finish. Dead in his tracks. Kay perked, expecting him to have suddenly landed on their friend. She turned to look in the direction he was, but frowned when she didn't see anyone. Her expression cleared quickly, though, once she realized he wasn't staring at some _one_. He was staring at some _thing._ Nearer to the front of the store, positioned by one of the registers that was now closed. It was a newspaper rack.

She weakened. "Cameron, let's—" But he was already walking away from her. She grimaced, but followed, shoving her hands down into her coat pockets as if she was suddenly cold. He went up to the rack and leaned down to pick up the one laying on top. Kay glanced around to check for an employee, who wouldn't take kindly to rifling through the paper without paying for it first. But the whole place was deserted, still. She turned back, looking down with a heavy heart at the front page, and the photo of Jonathan that was staring right back at them. She noticed that Cameron's grip tightened— that the edges crinkled.

She couldn't even bring herself to read the headline. Not that she needed to— Mike was telling her every little detail that was happening, and let nothing slip by. She couldn't even really look at the photo for very long. She found herself just looking at Cameron. But that was difficult as well, for an entirely different reason. His expression was filled with so much hurt it was almost disarming. She wasn't even sure he was breathing as his eyes flickered quickly over the ink. He hadn't asked her for any more information concerning Jonathan. She had reacted accordingly, and hadn't told him anything else, figuring that he just didn't want her to.

She guessed he wanted to know more than he would even admit to himself.

The more he read, the more injured he seemed to grow. His posture grew stiffer, and his shoulders curled in more. His eyes grew raw with pain. She stayed silent, and didn't try to stop him. She simply stood and waited for him to read the entire thing. To flip back and forth through the pages like he was worried he'd missed something. And when he was finished, he just went back and stared hollowly at the picture of his brother sitting in court, his eyes blatantly bright against the fluorescent lights of the shop. He said nothing for the longest time. Neither did she.

When he did speak, it was hardly a murmur. "Do you think he's really sorry?"

The question disarmed her. Because she wasn't sure how to answer. She tried to choose her words carefully. "I…think he regrets doing what he did…" For some reason, it took extra effort to get this out. Like she was having to shove them out one syllable at a time. She hoped Cameron didn't notice. "I think if he had the chance to go back…he wouldn't have done it." She hesitated and tacked on something she knew for a fact, at least. "I know he's worried about you. And…he wants to get back to you." Did that count for anything? To her it didn't. But to Cameron?

He couldn't tear his gaze away from the newspaper. Couldn't even blink. He did, however, grimace slowly. She hadn't thought it was even possible, but his voice got even quieter. "If I hadn't called him, would he have come back?"

She was mute. She couldn't answer— she didn't have one. Or maybe she did, and it just came in the form of the pain that crawled over her face.

The silence seemed to be enough for Cameron. He held the paper even tighter, his vision smearing with so much water he couldn't even make out the image of Jonathan. His voice hitched in something between sorrow and fear. And he just repeated himself: "Do you think he's really sorry?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn't know what woke her up. The room was dead silent, and peaceful. Maybe it was just a feeling. Maybe it was just on accident. Whatever the reason, Kay's eyes slowly flickered open, and she dragged herself awake again. At first she was inclined to just go back to sleep. Until she felt the tiniest of shifts in her arms she realized Cameron was awake. She closed her eyes and hummed under her breath, feeling him immediately still. If she was aware enough, she probably would have sensed the guilt that was spiking off him. But she was still trying to wake herself up more. She didn't even remember closing her eyes. She must have fallen asleep faster than she anticipated. But she hadn't stayed asleep for very long, going by the time that was shining out from the digital clock.

"Did I wake you up?" Cameron's voice was quiet, and hushed. He'd been where he usually was— nestled so his head was resting against the crook of her neck. She felt him move away a little with the inquiry, and she was lucky she was awake enough now to stop the objection that almost wriggled its way off her tongue. She just took her arms back and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn. She could barely see Cameron in the dark. She was almost inclined to turn the light on. But she figured she would adjust sooner or later. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"You didn't," she murmured. She let her arms fall again and just looked at him. She could basically see him, now. They were so close, it was easier. Her forehead creased a little. "Did you fall asleep at all?" It didn't sound like he had. Her voice was clogged and bleary— his was clear. Sure enough, silence met her question. "Did you take any melatonin?" she asked gently. Usually taking some of those worked. He might have to take ten milligrams over the suggested dose…but they worked. Either that, or Nyquil— between those two, one of them ended up getting him to sleep for at least a little while.

"I took four. I can't sleep."

She frowned. She shifted so she was more on her side. Much more awake now, she took in a thoughtful breath. "Well. I was rummaging around this morning and I found a puzzle that looks like it's never been opened. We could get up and do that." The briefest second of silence followed the suggestion, before a tiny laugh came from Cameron. It brought a smile to Kay's face immediately. "Or there's brownie mix," she offered, her words ending in a yawn. She shook herself and swept on. "We could absolutely make…" she looked at the clock, "…1:13 am brownies."

Cameron sounded like he was stifling another laugh as he mused: "Of course. Because what else do you do at 1:13 in the morning?"

Kay smiled. When he made no move to agree, however, she prompted: "We  _can_."

"You're tired," Cameron objected. Though she could still see a hint of a grin on his face, in the dark. "We're not doing any of that."

"You just don't want to face the fact I would be better at puzzles than you."

"You have to wait until  _at least_  seven in the morning to insult me, Kay. Right now is too early."

She laughed a little under her breath. The two of them fell silent, and she grew more solemn as she realized he was looking at her strangely. She couldn't quite pin down the look on his face, though it could be due to the fact it was so dark and she was still clearing her head a little bit. A frown worried her features. Cameron moved back a little closer. As he came near, she reached out and drifted a hand along the side of his face, her fingers stilling in his hair. He didn't react harshly to her touch— in fact, with a tiny exhale, he moved to hold her again. But this time, he held her more to his chest and put his head on top of hers. She didn't resist. But her eyes were drawn to his neck, and she found herself picturing the bruises that were there.

She curled more into him. "Are you okay?" she whispered. Her words were almost lost in his shirt.

It took a very long time for him to respond. Time that she gave him.

"…It's really weird," he rasped eventually. She said nothing— just left him space to go on. Which he took, but only after yet another long hesitation. His voice was filled with it, as well. Like his brain was barely allowing himself to get this out. "It's weird to…just be here, and— be with you and have everything…be fine, and  _good,_ and it  _is_ good, it's…" She realized now why he'd pulled her closer. Why he'd made it so she couldn't see his face. He'd done so on purpose. He didn't want her staring at him when he said any of this. "When…"

This pause seemed longer than the others. Kay began to run the tips of her fingers soothingly over his collarbone. Gradually, he scraped together the nerve to keep going. And suddenly she was glad that her face was also hidden, because in the face of his next words, tears were quick to burn at her eyes. "I thought I was going to die." He sounded choked. But he got it out. And though it felt like every word now was acid, he continued to force them out, despite the difficulty. "I  _wanted_ to die." The four words may as well have been punches directly to her gut. "I was…positive. I  _knew_ it. And…" He sniffed. She could feel him shaking just a little bit, against her. "I mean— they only left because…I couldn't even  _flinch_ , I was…so gone, I…" If Kay was thinking about it, she would have worried that he would feel her tears through his shirt. But she wasn't, right now.

Cameron took a second to gather himself back together. She could practically feel him scrambling to pick up the pieces before they could make too big a mess. It was fragile, and it was difficult, but he was doing it. She wasn't sure what she was crying more about: the mental images Cameron's words created, or the fact that he was finally saying them in the first place and struggling so much in the process. "And now I'm…just  _here_." He almost laughed on the last word. It would have qualified for one, had it not sounded so sad. "And I'm here with  _you_ , and it's just…it's… _weird._ "

"I understand," she whispered. It was impossible not to notice her voice was thicker than normal.

Cameron held her a little tighter. "It doesn't feel real…or right. I keep…worrying I'll wake up or…snap out of it, or…"

"You're right here," she reassured him quietly. "With me." And though she didn't say anything else, there was enough feeling behind her words to make actually adding onto it obsolete. There was earnestness and protectiveness and regret and relief. There was a silent promise, that as long as he wanted her to be, she would remain by his side because that was where she wanted to be. There was a promise that things were okay, and even with whatever was to come, she would try her best to make sure it stayed that way. That eventually, even if it had to be years down the road, they would put this behind them and Cameron would finally be able to say he feels okay again. Whether it be a month from now, or whether it be a year. Ten years, or twenty, they would eventually reach it.

It was all there, in those five words.

Cameron let go of her a little bit and shifted back. In the dark, it was difficult to see his face, or what his expression was. She was sure he could see just as little as she could. But she saw his arm move, and she felt it when he carded his fingers gently through her hair. She didn't move at all. When Cameron tucked a few locks behind her ear, she was a statue. Her hand stayed against his collarbone and she felt her arm bend just as a little as he leaned closer. She didn't even blink. And when Cameron's lips found hers, she still remained motionless.

She was frozen, at first. Torn between ecstatic happiness, and alarm that this was the wrong thing to let happen. She didn't know whether to pull him more against her or nudge him away. She didn't think she had the heart to do the latter. But she also didn't want him getting upset again. Last time it had set him back, and it had set him back wildly. He'd made so much progress— if she broke that all again, she would never forgive herself. She'd barely forgiven herself for the first slip-up as it was. But that had been on her terms. That had been when  _she_ had been the one to kiss  _him_ , and she had pulled too close and gone too fast. This time Cameron was the one initiating it— did that make any difference?

All these thoughts flashed by in less than a few seconds. The kiss was small and it was tentative. Cameron didn't pull so much away, as he just hesitated. Their lips barely even a millimeter apart, Kay whispered: "Are you okay?" She didn't want him to just be doing this for her. That was the opposite of what she wanted him to do, and she was sure it was the opposite of what he wanted as well.

But his voice, however small, wasn't riddled with panic when he murmured: "Yeah, I'm…fine."

She was still hesitant. Cameron inched back into her, but he was moving more reluctantly now, like he wasn't sure. She softened, and a surge of affection so great slammed into her that she found it impossible to breathe around. She put a hand against his cheek again and smiled comfortingly. A silent means of saying he didn't have to do this. That this wasn't what she was looking for. That moment in the store, where he'd smiled and laughed… _that_ was what she was  _truly s_ earching for. If she could have that and nothing else, she would never once feel the smallest bit of disappointment. All she wanted was for Cameron to be happy again.

Because she loved him.

But with her smile, and the adoring look on her face, along with her still-watering eyes, Cameron was leaning in again. This time she kissed him back, but took great care in making sure it was right. She followed his lead and didn't dare do anything besides that. Each kiss was small and gentle, and very very slow. It wasn't rushed, like before— it wasn't heated. Each one was soft, and chaste. Each one was tinged with the tiniest hint of salt, and neither of them could tell if it was from Kay's tears, or from Cameron's. Maybe it was from both.

Kay's heart felt like it was breaking, she was so happy. She was smiling into Cameron's lips every time he came back to her. She didn't move closer, or hold onto him tighter. This was enough. This was more than enough. And it was communicated in every kiss. All her relief, all her affection, all her promises, all her encouragement— it was there in every one. And in the exchange she could feel Cameron's gratitude. His own relief, his own affection.

She hadn't had too many moments in her life that were slow. But she had had even less moments in her life that were perfect.

Eventually each kiss began to get slower and slower. Until there was one last lingering one before Cameron pulled away. Only a little bit, though, so their foreheads could rest together. Kay looked at him adoringly, and her affection only grew at the tiny smile that was teasing the corners of his lips. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Her expression faltered just a little. "I didn't ask."

She smiled even more, the tiniest hint of pain in the very back of her stare. But Cameron's eyes were bright. For once, they didn't seem hindered at all. For the first time in ages, he almost looked like his old self. She reached out and wrapped her arms around him again, and he followed suit. He fit back into her seamlessly. She found herself softening. She didn't know what she would have done if Cameron really had died. This situation was already painful enough…just the thought of it now – that she wouldn't be holding him in her arms like she was now, couldn't feel his breathing against hers – made her sick to her stomach. She couldn't have lost him. And she wasn't going to lose him now.

He meant too much to her.

She ducked her head a little bit, drawing her fingers soothingly through his hair. Softly, she whispered: "You're amazing, Cameron Black."

He melted more into her, and held a little tighter.

She didn't close her eyes again. This time, she was the one that stayed up. She held him and gave him security, listening to his breathing as it became deeper and slower. She felt him finally relax. She made sure that he got to sleep, before she even thought about doing the same. Even when he did, she tried to stay up a little bit longer…to hang onto this moment – another slow one, another perfect one – so that she could have it just in case.

But it was no use. In his arms, she couldn't manage staying awake for much longer, either.

In no time, the both of them were fast asleep.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He'd waited to hear those words. He'd waited for ages. More than a year. He'd waited for this very moment to happen, and yet…now that it was here…it was hollow. There was no cheering. No high-fiving, no yelling "I told you so" which he was positive would have come from Cameron at some point, knowing his brother. There was no euphoria, with the release. No excitement at the declaration of innocence. There wasn't anything at all. Deakins had only seemed satisfied in the sense that all their bargaining seemed to pay off. Mike had absolutely no emotional reaction whatsoever.

Jonathan Black was free…but the cost of the freedom had been too much.

Even he only felt hollow at the announcement.

And he'd stayed hollow through everything else. Just like he was hollow now.

At the first chance he got, he picked up a phone.

It was picked up on the fourth ring. "Hello?"

"Cameron."

Immediately, there was a change. Jonathan could  _feel_ it. It was  _palpable._  And it was a feeling he didn't even really know his brother could have when it came to him. Not before this, anyway. There was absolute silence on the other end. Cameron said nothing. Jonathan closed his eyes and ducked his head. He leaned forward to prop himself up on the table he was standing in front of, and his inhale was a little more punctured when he just forced himself to keep talking. To spit it out. Because, despite everything, this was the reaction he actually wanted to know. To receive. Even if it was bad. Even if it was painful. He knew he deserved it. Just like he deserved everything else. "I'm out."

There was a pause on the other line. Jonathan could have  _sworn_ he heard a laugh. A tiny one— a bitter one, almost. Before: "That's good. I'm happy. For you." The words were too short. Too not Cameron.

Jonathan stared down at the table, memorizing the wood grains. Again, his breath in was fast. "I, uh— I'm staying with Gunter, I…figured…that would…be the best thing, right now. Or— tonight."

"That makes sense." Jonathan hardly heard the mumble. Maybe Cameron meant it only for himself.

Ten full seconds passed in silence before Jonathan spoke again. "I…Cameron, I…want to talk to you," he blurted out. Nothing came as a response. He closed his eyes before going on, like that would make it easier. "I just…can I talk to you? Can I see you? I want to…see you." It was all wrong. Not just these words— the entire thing. Still, he got no response. He smiled and tried to laugh, but it failed miserably. "You're my brother," he stated. Like Cameron was the one that needed reminding of the fact. "I…miss you."

"I missed you too," he returned stiffly.

The tense felt strange. Like it was wrong. But like it also wasn't.

"Can I?" Jonathan pressed after a pause. "I…Cameron, I want to make things right. Or I want to try, at least. I want to…make this whole thing up to you. To…apologize, to explain my— well, not explain myself, I just…I'm out," he repeated weakly. "I'm out, this is what we've been waiting for!" He tried to make his voice brighter. "This is what we were working for, this is what it was all for!"

"…Yeah," Cameron returned softly. "I guess it was."

Jonathan closed his eyes in a harsh cringe. He ducked his head down to his chest, taking a moment to feel everything at once. Frustration, regret, remorse, guilt, anger, everything. Before he shoved it all down and exhaled. Opened his eyes again and offered: "You can think about it, Cameron. If you want."

"Okay."

Jonathan hesitated. But there wasn't anything more to say. He closed his eyes, daring to add a small: "I love you. Cameron."

"…Okay."

The word might as well have been a knife cutting right into him. His voice was thick when he spoke again, but he was beyond caring by this point. "Okay," he repeated. "…Bye, Cameron."

He was met with a click.

Jonathan pulled the phone away from his ear, staring down at it blankly, like he'd never seen it before.

"Well?"

He turned, looking at Gunter. He was sitting on one of the two hotel beds, having watched him carefully this entire time. Jonathan couldn't speak clearly, he knew. He just shook his head once. Set the phone down on its receiver and tried not to focus on how loud the sound of it was. Gunter's eyes flashed. He stared at his friend for a long moment before he said bracingly: "Well…I'm sure he'll come around. Until then…we should celebrate! You're all clear! You deserve to have a night out!"

Jonathan said nothing. And he did nothing as Gunter got up and made for the bathroom. "I know a few places we can go to. And think of it this way: you can introduce yourself properly! As Jonathan! There's a club we found a couple months ago I'm sure you'd love it's called The…"

Jonathan wasn't listening. He wasn't even reacting.

He just stared down at the floor. Completely blank.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the break in updates; I've just started school again and it's quite a workload. I'm trying to write as often as I can between studying and homework; I've got the next chapter of Irreversible about halfway done as well, and I hope that'll be my next update. Thank you for your patience, those who are still waiting!  
> I hope you like this chapter! I never seem to have favorable opinions about my own work, so I hope it's better than I think it is haha.  
> This story is almost done!!! I'm thinking two more chapters at the most. This is the last really...heavy chapter, I think, things have to get worse before they get better but we're getting to the 'better' portion. A lot of the resolve will begin next chapter, I've got a lot planned for it and some already written for it, so it'll be really good I'm hoping! Anyway! I hope you like this chapter! And I hope if you do, I can hear from you in a review. Please brighten up my days so I get through nursing school without dying...  
> Also, look, even when I'm in school, I still cannot update unless it is four in the morning. My life is a tragedy. 
> 
> Also also, it's a very long story, my laptop exploded, so it took quite a lot to get this chapter out and in the meantime, the formatting might be weird I am very sorry I tried my best.

The house was quiet. 

And it wasn’t the peaceful kind of quiet anymore. It was the kind of quiet that was oppressing and suffocating. That made him feel like he was being choked. And made him feel lonely. Even though he wasn’t in technical definitions ‘alone.’ Dina was in her room, likely still asleep. He would be asleep too, if it hadn’t been for Kay leaving to go to work. She’d tried to be quiet about it – she usually did – but Cameron had felt her pull away from him, and the moment she was taking her arms away, however reluctantly, his eyes were opening. He’d only been half-awake. She’d whispered a couple of apologies and a goodbye, and her hand had lingered on his shoulder briefly after she’d fixed the blanket to pull it back over him. But she’d left all the same. 

Despite her apologies, he was glad he’d woken up. It was better that way. It had only happened once so far, given that it was still a newer thing. But one morning he’d woken up without her there, and her spot cold. He’d met it with unreasonable and uncollected alarm. Only for a couple seconds. And then he’d felt an overwhelming sense of sorrow grip his chest, so blatant that it hurt. Even though he couldn’t go back to sleep once she did, he would always rather have Kay wake him on her way out. So her apologies weren’t really needed.

But being woken up  _did_ leave him with moments like this. It was still much too early for Dina to be up, and Cameron had to no reason to wake her. He couldn’t go back to sleep, but he couldn’t just lay there and let his mind wander. Letting his mind wander was the worst thing he could allow himself to do nowadays. But there wasn’t much to offer in terms of distractions. He didn’t want to turn on the television. He wasn’t hungry. He couldn’t go out somewhere. Or…he  _could_ but he didn’t  _want_ to. He couldn’t do much of anything. So his mind did wander. But…thankfully, it seemed to favor the lesser of the two evils, this time.

He was still in Jonathan’s room. Cameron hadn’t even really realized it. He’d just kind of…made the room  _his_ at some point. He’d moved here not two days after he got home…that was back when he still wholeheartedly believed that there was something more. Something worth it, something validating, something  _there_.  _Anything._ He was willing to take anything, back then. And he was willing to take any comfort, back then, too. It still hurt now to get around sometimes, and his stamina wasn’t nearly what it used to be. Back then, it had been hell just to force himself to stand up. And yet he’d dragged himself all the way here, much to the dismay of Dina. He’d limped and staggered and had to stop to brace himself against the wall as he did. He’d been biting down on a scream by the time he’d finally reached the bed and collapsed into it. But he’d thought it was worth it.

He didn’t know what he’d been trying to prove. If he’d been trying to prove anything in the first place. He’d been trying to get comfort…that was probably the biggest slice of the motivation. He’d been trying to get comfort and this was just the closest he could get. His entire life, and Jonathan had been the one he could turn to when things got bad or hard. No matter what, he always knew that his twin would be there, because he was always there for him. They’d lived their entire lives side-by-side…the comfort was second nature. Though back then he’d thought that there was something more to his brother’s actions, he still hadn’t had him there for the comfort he’d been aching for.

And he had ached for it. He’d  _needed_ it. The fact that he didn’t have Jonathan there to smile at him and reassure him it’d turn out alright had been like a knife lodged deep into his heart. Like every second, with every beat, it would be sliced more and more around the blade, and the pain would only grow tenfold. The blood would only gush out faster. Moving rooms, as stupid as it was and as pointless as it was, was the closest thing he could get to having his brother back and there for him again. Trying to wrap himself up tight enough in the blanket so it felt like he was being hugged, and trying to see whether or not he could smell him somewhere on the pillows…that was all he’d had.

He’d moved rooms so that he could maybe feel his brother again, or trick himself to, anyway. So that maybe he could fool himself into thinking that he would burst over the threshold, snapping at him to get out and go back to his own room and give him some space. So he could try and remember the nights when they were younger, and happier, and more carefree, sharing a bed in some dingy motel or crammed together in some coffin-like container during a trick. So he could pretend he was anywhere else but where he actually was. 

He’d started out here, fully believing that denial was enough, and that Jonathan would be back soon. That he just had to be satisfied with this in the meantime. Now, weeks later, and he was still here. Now he knew that the comfort was pointless, and that the type he was looking for didn’t even exist in the first place. That his brother hadn’t had some grand scheme…that his plan had begun and ended with him sticking him in prison and never looking back over his shoulder. That it turned out, laying there and really stopping to think about it for the first time…being in here made everything hollower. Being in here hurt worse. Maybe it had this entire time, and he was only just now realizing it. 

But in here, surrounded by his brother’s things, with the last phone call echoing in his ears…Cameron got up. He couldn’t keep looking at the books that were on the shelves, because he just recalled the ones that he’d purchased for him because he knew they were his favorites. He couldn’t look at the desk and the blueprints that Jonathan had been working on, because he’d rushed in himself to see them. He couldn’t look at the dresser because he knew that if he looked hard enough, he’d see the chip in the wood from the time he’d helped him move it in and they’d accidentally hit the doorframe on the way. He couldn’t look at anything because it made him too sick to.

He laid there for ages, hesitating, like it would make a difference. But eventually he turned and pushed himself up, his eyes flickering around the room one last time, and his expression pulling over with something far too close to pain. He wormed out from underneath the covers and stood, exhaling a little shakily against the pain that prickled its way up his sides. His ribs were certainly taking their time healing…nearly everything else was much more on its way in comparison. But the pain around his lungs was ever-present as he turned and left the room, his footsteps sounding much too loud against the wood floor.

He lingered in the hall uncertainly for a long moment. Before he just turned and went back for his room instead. It seemed colder in there, though he knew the thought was irrational. And it seemed darker, too, which he knew was even more so. He closed the door with a click behind him, and he let his back rest against it briefly. His expression was exhausted as he looked over the room. At the mementos from shows that he’d kept, and thought were so important. Now he was wondering why he ever could have figured as much. 

It was a lifetime ago. 

And somehow…he feared it would  _stay_ a lifetime ago. 

His eyes caught on the bedside table. He walked over and picked up the picture frame that was there. He remembered taking it. And he  _had_ been the one to take it. Him and Jonathan…they hardly ever caught dead in the same picture, even in pictures like these, where it wouldn’t leave the walls of the Archive. Who knew what could happen? Who might see it? Even in their personal phones, you could probably only count on one hand how many actually had the two of them side-by-side. Because that was important…hadn’t it been? That had been so important…how in the  _world_ had that been so important?

He shook his head to try and clear it. He redirected his focus back down on the photo. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, but it was a sad smile, and the more it grew, the sadder it became. It was a photo of Jonathan and the rest of the team, sitting around the table. They were in the middle of a board game, but they’d taken this moment to stop and capture it. Gunter and Jordan weren’t fighting…they were grinning identically, Jordan flashing a peace sign at the camera. Dina and Jonathan were sitting close together, their arms brushing and their bodies angled towards each other’s. Dina was positively glowing…she looked like she did now whenever she was with Mike. And Jonathan…

Jonathan was smiling, and his eyes were shining. He looked like he was frozen mid-laugh, in fact. 

Cameron stared down at it, not even blinking. Just watching as the shapes and colors of the photograph began to warp the more his eyes began to sting. He tried to remember that night, but for some reason he couldn’t scrounge up a single detail. Had it been after a show? Had it been during a break? How long had Jonathan and Dina been dating? Had they even started officially dating, now? He hated himself for not being able to answer a single one of those questions. For not knowing every little detail of this moment, now that he knew it would never be that way again. For not realizing how important it would be that night to cherish it because soon everything would be ruined. 

For not knowing whether or not the smile on his brother’s face was genuine or just put on for show.

He set the frame down and took care in arranging it so it wasn’t out of place. He lingered on it for a moment more, his heart too heavy to look away. When suddenly his eyes flashed and he looked up. His forehead creased, as something occurred to him, and the curiosity was enough to rip his attention away for the time being. He turned instead, and his eyes zeroed in on the small bookshelf in the corner. His wasn’t a full one, like Jonathan’s. Unlike his brother, he never really made the time to read— he didn’t have the attention span for it, Dina used to say. In fact, most of the books that were on that shelf was just overflow from Jonathan’s room that he let his brother store in here instead. 

But he turned all the same, frowning as he walked over. He kneeled down slowly, and with a harsh cringe of pain. He hissed through clenched teeth as he had to hunch a little bit, but when he got down to the floor, the waves of agony passed. He could shake it off and look over the spines that were facing out to him. His eyes went back and forth over them as he racked his brain, trying to remember which one it was in. If it was even in there anymore in the first place, or if he’d taken it out. He might have. His memory seemed to be failing him as of late. Usually he could conjure up anything in less than a second. 

He found it. And he leaned forward, using his uninjured hand to wrap his fingers around the book in particular and wriggle it out. He couldn’t remember where he’d stuck it…somewhere random in the pages of the book, because he figured shoving it into the back cover was too obvious a ploy. Sure enough, he flipped through the pages until he got to page 215. The photograph that had been stuck there ages ago fell out as he thumbed through, and he blinked a couple times in surprise, looking down at it. His stomach twisted, and his eyebrows pulled together more in pain. But, after only a small pause, he turned and set the book aside, trading the weight in his hands instead for the photo. 

He flipped it over so he could actually see it, and though he knew what would be waiting for him, and though he’d tried to brace himself for it, it was still a hard punch to his gut when he saw it again. Growing up, Jonathan and Cameron were never allowed to be in the same picture together. Jonathan had been taught to avoid cameras altogether, and did so mostly out of a habit after a while. The habit kind of followed them along even after their father was gone. So there weren’t many pictures at all that had the two of them in it. 

This one was one of the meager few. 

It was ages ago. Even further back than a lifetime. He wasn’t sure how old they were, because he wasn’t sure he even remembered the day this was taken. Even though he wished he did. It was a photo of him and his brother…if he had to guess, they must have been five or six. Somewhere in that area, anyway. Though he couldn’t remember the day it had been taken, he remembered the day he’d found the snapshot. It had been in an album shoved way far back in a closet— not a surprise, given what was captured in the frame. He’d swiped it for himself. He’d stored it away again but this time somewhere he could drag it out easier.

He’d thought it was adorable. When he’d showed it to Jonathan, his brother had just smiled indulgently. He’d seemed a little more on the embarrassed side. And maybe it made sense. It was a photo of the two of them hugging. Or, rather Jonathan hugging  _him_. He was practically knocking him over, in fact; it looked like he’d just ran over and slammed into him full-force. Cameron was falling, frozen halfway down to the ground. But there was a huge smile on his face, only contested with the grin that was on Johnny’s. He was beaming, throwing his arms around his brother and laughing. Cameron was reaching up to lock his arms around the ones that were wrapped around his neck. 

His eyes stayed stuck on that detail for what felt like forever. Pressure building in his throat. 

When he was finally able to rip his eyes away, they went to Jonathan instead. His throat only grew tighter. He couldn’t even bring himself to breathe as he looked at the smile that was on his brother’s face. At how happy he was, and how happy they were  _together._ Looking at it now, his chest yawned in pain. He found himself wishing that that rule hadn’t existed. That there were more pictures of them in every stage of life, as older kids, as tweens, as teenagers, as young adults. 

But not to see each little milestone or to remember happier moments like this one.

He wished there were more so he could see the change.

He wished he could take it picture by picture, stage by stage, and see Jonathan in every one. If he put them side-by-side, maybe he could see. Maybe he could look through them all and realize what had happened. Pin down the singular moment where the smile became faker, and the light in his eyes dulled. He wished he could see where it really was he went wrong, and Jonathan started to hate him. Because he did. He  _had._ Screw the phone conversation— he wouldn’t have left him the way he had if he didn’t hold a real, deep-seated grudge. He wouldn’t have done what he did if there wasn’t some part of him that didn’t  _truly_  want him to rot in that prison instead. That wanted him out of his life completely. 

So where was it? What had been the tipping moment? What had been the final straw? What could Cameron have done differently, if not the whole entire thing? He kept staring down at the photograph, watching the image smear and blur in his hands. When had Jonathan stopped running up to hug him? When had he stopped smiling that big around him? What had Cameron done that ruined what that little boy had? Or was it just that Jonathan woke up one day and realized how awful a person he was? Maybe he didn’t do anything at all, and that was just the case. 

Maybe that was it.

Maybe Jonathan just grew up. Maybe he just learned better. 

Cameron’s grip on the photo began to grow harder. His hands were shaking, and therefore the image began to do the same. He looked at the two of them and his stomach bean to twist and writhe. A sick feeling was beginning to bottle itself in the back of his throat, like the sick feeling he’d had the entire time he’d stayed at Rockland for Jonathan. Thinking he had a plan because he’d been too stupid to realize that he and his brother weren’t five anymore. That things had changed, and the person that had run up behind him to hug him wasn’t the same person that had been standing in front of him in the prison that day. That everything was different because the person that had smashed into him with a huge bear hug before, was now sending him just as hard to the ground, but with a punch this time, instead. 

He’d been stupid, he’d been  _so_ stupid. Thinking that there was a way out of everything, thinking that Jonathan would come back for him and make everything better. Staying there in that prison – he’d  _stayed_ there on his own accord! – because he’d made the decision to be completely blind to everything. Comforting himself at night by reiterating that his brother would never abandon him— by trying to distract himself by thinking of moments exactly like this,  _struggling_ to tell himself that there  _had_ to have been  _something_ behind the hugs, behind the nights spent laughing, behind the practices that stretched on longer through the night because they were having much more fun than they’d anticipated. Keeping silent and refusing to say the three words that maybe  _maybe_ just  _maybe_ could have stopped everything— “I’m not Jonathan.” 

Laying in that supply closet, hurting and bleeding and disgusting and dying, thinking of the times they were kids when his brother had smiled at him and said, “You got this, Cam.”

He gritted his teeth, feeling his lips shake where they pressed tightly together. The pressure only built and layered on top of itself. His breathing began to hitch and spike. Cameron closed his eyes tightly and cringed. He moved to hold the picture tightly by its top, and he bit down on the pain it took in his fractured hand to hold it hard enough. And he moved before he could think. He moved before he could really even know it was what he was going to do. He moved, and then the answer of what he’d just done came in the form of a long tearing noise. He flinched from the tiny sound. Like it was a slap across the face. He dropped the pieces. And he kept his eyes closed, like that would change anything at all. 

After nearly thirty full seconds of sitting tensely, in complete silence, Cameron forced his eyes to crack open. He blinked and looked at his hands, feeling tears ebb down his face as he stared at his now-empty palms. Still blinking rapidly, he looked down at the floor. His breath hitched when he saw the two halves. He’d split it right down the middle, tearing the two of them apart. At first, he just stared at it, sorrow and despair locking around him like a chokehold. 

But quickly, it changed, and Cameron’s eyes rounded out in shock. He gasped and flew out to pick up the two pieces, his face falling as he looked at them both with dismay. He fit it back together, but it was no use without tape. Tape— did they have tape? Did they have tape in the house!? Would it look the same if he taped it back together!? “Shit!” he breathed, his voice clenching into a pained octave. Frustration joined the burning sorrow now, and a noise of pain squeaked out of his throat as he shook his head. There were only a handful of pictures of the two of them together— he couldn’t even remember where any of the other ones were! Not like he remembered this one! 

“Fuck!”he snapped, his voice slowly becoming more and more choked. He cringed and tried to shift the pieces again when they became less aligned. He tried to get it perfectly back the way it was, but the edges of each were awkwardly-shaped. His grip was becoming tighter just from sheer agitation, and suddenly his left hand went into a spasm of extreme pain. He cried out and his fingers went numb, causing him to drop the half of the photo that had him on it. He clamped down hard on the unexpected agony, and just looked down miserably as it fluttered the floor. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could manage. More and more frustration welled in his chest, so much so he felt like it would explode. He just sat back against the wall, hesitating only a second before hitting his head back against it hard. He repeated the curse again, even more congested this time.  _“Fuck!”_

He felt himself start to slip. He felt himself start to spiral. He was getting better at digging his heels into the ground and stopping himself before he could, nowadays. But not this time. This time, there wasn’t a point. This time he couldn’t choke back the despair, the self-loathing. 

Why was he so  _stupid!?_ What did doing that even  _prove!?_ Why didn’t he think!? Now what was he going to do!? 

He didn’t even know what those questions were for.

His relationship with Jonathan in the first place? Helping Sawyer? Tearing the picture?

His breathing only escalated when he realized it didn’t matter. It applied to everything.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

“So I just told him he had five seconds to put the girl scout cookies down before there was going to be a very big problem,” Dina began to conclude. “And, of course, he doesn’t, there are Thin Mints absolutely  _everywhere_ , and I just  _knew_ we weren’t going to have a repeat of May eleventh.  _So._ I grabbed the box myself and I decided that there was only one way this was going to end, and that was by—” 

Her story was cut off prematurely when there was a knock on the door. She turned and looked in the direction of the noise, her face falling into uncertainty. Her eyes flickered over to Cameron, but he hadn’t reacted. In fact, he hadn’t reacted to anything at all up until this point. He’d sat at the kitchen table but he’d set his head down a long time ago, taking to staring off to the side a little blankly. He seemed distracted, and apparently whatever was on his mind was enough to deter him from even hearing the arrival of someone strange.

Kay was sitting at his side. Before now, she’d alternated from being an attentive listener to the admittedly wild story Dina was telling, and glancing worriedly down at Cameron. But when there was knocking, her attention was ripped in its direction just like Dina’s was. In fact, the two looked in its direction at the same exact time, and they both looked at each other with twin looks of confusion and nerves. Neither of them had invited anyone over, that much was certain. Dina’s eyes went to Cameron one last time before she shot Kay a look and pushed herself off of the counter to make for the entryway. 

Kay stayed put where she was, tracking her friend for a heartbeat before she turned back to Cameron. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice noticeably gentle. He didn’t react to her – didn’t even blink – so she reached out a little cautiously and put a hand lightly between his shoulder blades. He roused at once and started to sit up, inhaling a little sharply through his nose. Her expression weakened with pain as she watched him, and it didn’t lessen when he turned to look at her. He seemed exhausted. And worried. Sad. Not unlike how he usually was, but somehow Kay still wasn’t used to seeing that expression on his face. Or…maybe in a way she  _was_ , but she hated that that was the case. She took her hand back when she saw he was a little stiff, and she tilted her head to the side. “You okay?” she asked just as quietly. 

“Mhm.” He sighed and turned back front, reaching up and rubbing at his face with his good hand before he propped his head up with it. “Just tired,” he muttered. He still seemed far away as he just fell silent. Kay wilted, trying to search his face for what he wasn’t telling her. But it was hard to do, considering there was so much he was keeping back in the first place. She started to try and see whether or not she could ask him anything more – she knew prodding for information at all was the equivalent of making it across a mine field and keeping all your limbs – when she didn’t get the chance to. When all of a sudden, she heard Dina’s voice, sharpened into something much too close to anger.

“No.  _No._ _Absolutely_ not. Not now.” She sounded livid. Kay frowned and turned, but her frown only worsened when Cameron did the same. Neither of them moved at first, they just listened. But the unease was identical on their faces the more Dina spoke. She must have been replying to something the newcomer had said. Her voice was even harder than it had been initially. “No, because you’ve made your stance on this whole position  _very clear. That’s_ why you can’t come in.” Cameron slid off the stool he’d been perched on and he started in her direction. Kay grimaced, but she caught herself in time to keep from calling him back. She just shook her head and followed. 

“We’ve made a  _world_ of progress, and you want to undo all of that for no reason,” Dina was practically hissing once they got closer. Kay was fearing the worst. A nosy reporter, Jonathan standing on the doorstep trying to demand his way inside. They all knew he wanted to talk to Cameron. Kay and Dina had snapped onto high alert the second the news broke he was a free man now. They didn’t have much of a choice, all things considered. And Cameron had told Kay about the phone conversation he’d had two nights ago. Since then there hadn’t been so much as a phone call— was this Jonathan here now, drawing the line and just forcing his way inside anyway? 

But no. The culprit was given away as soon as they were close enough to hear their voice. “It’s not for no reason,” Gunter objected, his voice thin with frustration. Cameron wilted at the sound of his friend’s voice, and when they came up behind Dina and could actually see him, he only deflated more. It felt like ages since Gunter had been in the house…though he knew it hadn’t been that long in the grand scheme of things. Seeing him again now made him realize just how much he missed everyone being here and together. How much he missed Gunter and Jordan bickering back when fights meant nothing, because they all knew they would laugh it off by the end of the night. 

“You can’t keep them separate forever like they’re dogs that don’t get along,” Gunter pressed, not yet catching sight of the other two walking in on the conversation. Dina stiffened, positively enraged at the analogy. “Jonathan has been doing nothing but worrying since he’s gotten out— he’s paced a rut in the floor by now! He just wants to see Cameron and talk to him— he wants to put this all behind us! He wants everything back to normal— isn’t that what Cameron wants too?” He shook his head and pressed: “We’ve been trying to get Jonathan back for more than a year now, and now that we have, he isn’t even allowed back into his own  _home!”_

“This isn’t his home,” Dina growled, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “He gave up that right when he left Cameron.” 

Gunter fumed, clamping his mouth closed tighter and shaking his head. “ _How_ are we supposed to move on when you won’t even let him  _near_  here?” he demanded, the question scathing. “Is this how it’s always going to be? Is there not even a chance for him to make anything right!?” Dina started to say something, but before she had the chance, Gunter’s eyes caught on Cameron. When he realized that Kay was standing beside him, the tiniest bit of anger leaked into his expression. It was muted, but it was enough for Cameron to pick up on. It was enough for the both of them to pick up on. But if there was any question, it was answered when he spoke. “Cameron, is this you talking, or is it just her?” 

“Okay, you know what—?” Dina began to snap, reaching out as if to nudge him away from the doorway so she could close it. 

But he wasn’t too keen on allowing the effort. “Let him talk!” he snapped. Cameron winced away from the yell and looked off to the side, his shoulders locking up. Kay edged so she could stand closer to him. Gunter didn’t miss the gesture, and his expression only became more clouded. “How can you forgive Kay for all of this? She had just as much to do with it!” She went rigid, freezing in a mixture of rage and horror. Cameron refused to look back at him. “If the FBI had helped with Jonathan, none of this would have happened! They left him, and he felt like he had no other choice but to do what he did! He was just doing for himself what they couldn’t! So how can you forgive her and not your own brother!?” 

“Gunter, you need to leave,” Dina growled. “You have  _no_ idea—” 

“Jonathan’s been sitting by the phone for the past  _two days_! He asks me every other hour if anyone’s called, or if I’ve heard anything, and we  _all_  know I haven’t! All he wants to do is talk to you! All he wants to do is make things right! You’re telling me you let  _her_  make up for everything and you’re not going to let him? You owe it to him!”

“Cameron doesn’t owe Jonathan  _anything_!” Dina spat. “I cannot  _believe_ you have the  _nerve_ to even make it  _seem_ like—!” 

“Is that why you’re here?” Cameron asked dully, snapping everyone’s attention at once, despite the low level of his voice. He forced himself to look back at Gunter, and tried not to ignore how his chest constricted when he did. How much it hurt because he’d missed him, and yet  _this_ was the first time he’d seen him in ages. When Gunter locked eyes with him, he seemed to stop a little short, like he was caught off-guard by something. When he didn’t reply at once, Cameron just repeated himself. “Is that the only reason you came? To tell me I’m being  _mean?”_  His voice was so flat you could skate on it. 

Gunter hesitated. For a few heartbeats he was silent, just searching his face a little blankly. For a moment it looked like he was going to say something else— like he was tempted to say something more. But it must not have been that strong an impulse, because he bit it back. He just cleared his throat and looked down, reaching into his pocket. “No, I…came to return this. Jonathan wanted to do it himself, but…he figured…you’d have an issue with that.” He glanced at Dina a little sharper when he said this, which she ignored. She just watched along with Cameron and Kay as Gunter drew out the phone and held it out. 

Cameron almost didn’t realize what it was. He’d gone for so long without it, he was practically prepared to admit that it had just stopped existing in the first place. He hesitated for a long moment, just staring at the device like he’d never seen it before. Until he forced himself to reach out and take his phone back. “He asked me about five times to tell you he’s sorry,” Gunter said. Cameron didn’t look up at him. “He regrets what he did, Cameron. He made a mistake. He just wants to try and make it right again.”

“He’s done too much,” Dina replied thinly, hurt raw in her gaze as she glared at her friend. There was plenty of emotion behind the words to back up the retort. He  _had_ done a lot. To the people on this side of the threshold. He’d cheated on Dina. He’d nearly ruined her relationship with Mike by persuading her to steal his badge for him. He’d abandoned Cameron at Rockland. He’d betrayed and deceived Kay. The three standing on this side of the door were vastly different than the person standing on the other. They were polar opposites. Jonathan had done nothing but help Gunter. They just couldn’t relate. “A simple apology isn’t going to cut it,” she growled.

“Then maybe you should at least let him  _start_ there,” Gunter snapped. 

Cameron had been staring down at his phone intently. But with this, he flinched and closed his eyes.

Dina scowled. “Look Cameron in the eye, Gunter.” She was practically hissing through clenched teeth by this point. Gunter weakened, but only in the tiniest way. She noticed it all the same. “Look him in the  _eye_ and you tell him all the reasons he should listen to what Jonathan has to say.” Cameron looked up, already ready to shut the situation down because it was ridiculous. Because it was unnecessary. Because his chest was tightening. But he realized that Gunter wasn’t looking at him. He was only staring a hole through Dina, his jaw locked back. Her eyes flashed in grim satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.” Silence followed her words, and she shook her head, looking away from him. “I think you should leave.” The words were much too hard to let this be anything more than a demand.

Gunter kept staring at her. Again, like he wanted to say something. But he couldn’t. His eyes flickered to Cameron, but he couldn’t manage to look at him for very long, it seemed. He ducked his head and started to turn. He would have started back, had Cameron not spoken up. “Wait.” Gunter froze and. Kay and Dina looked at him with clear concern. But he just pocketed his phone and started to make for the hall. “Wait,” he repeated, before he broke away from the others. He walked back the way he’d come this morning, and retraced his steps to Jonathan’s room. He pushed his way inside and found the thing he was searching for. He picked it up with a heavy heart and didn’t linger. 

He went back to the others, his footsteps much too loud in the overwhelming quiet. He extended the phone to Gunter, his expression pained. “Here,” he offered, a little stiffly. Gunter seemed surprised. Cameron tried not to notice. “He should have his,” he mumbled. They’d kept the device, all this time. They’d kept paying the bills because they’d known he’d be out shortly and he’d want his cellphone waiting for him. Up to now, it’s been sitting on his desk untouched. Once Gunter took it, Cameron stepped away. He looked despairingly at his friend for what felt like hours but should have only been a couple seconds. Gunter started to open his mouth to say something. Cameron almost said something, too.

But it fell away from him.

He just turned, ripping himself away and hunching his shoulders as he went back to the kitchen. 

He heard Kay turn and follow him. He heard Dina’s voice, but she was speaking too low for him to make out the words. He didn’t know what she said to Gunter.

Maybe it was better that he didn’t.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

He had three missed calls. Four, counting the one he was currently watching ring itself out. His chest felt empty as he looked at the contact name. In the past, of course, he’d never been able to just label the contact as ‘Jonathan.’ Just to be safe, he had him as something obscure. Additionally, to be safe but  _also_ justto annoy Jonathan, he changed it quite frequently. Once, his contact had been Samantha. Another time it was Blackbeard The Pirate (But NOT the Fun One). Another time, he’d been Hobo Outside Applebee’s. When he’d gotten his phone back, the contact name still there was Pistol Pete. He remembered how he’d shoved it in Jonathan’s face, like he always had, dying of laughter from his own antics. Jonathan had rolled his eyes and shoved him away, fighting a grin himself.

He couldn’t bring himself to see it. So, finally, for the first time...he just put down his name.

There wasn’t a point in anything else, anymore.

He watched it ring out, cementing that fourth time. The missed call joined the others. 

“What do you want to do?” Kay asked softly. A question that was becoming more and more common, in the effort to try and encourage him to see that it was important. To remember.

He was resting his head down on the table. She was sitting across from him. Up to the question being asked, the room’s only noise had been the buzzing of the device against the wood tabletop. “Is ‘nothing’ an option?” he sighed. 

“It can be.”

He was silent with this. But his expression weakened. “It’s just…hard. I don’t…I know he wants to…but I don’t…” He huffed, trying to bite down on his frustration. Kay softened with pain. But she allowed him the time to collect himself, which he did after some time. He exhaled slowly, and picked his head back up. He looked at her, and the expression on his face was something akin to exhaustion. Somewhere between extreme fatigue and confusion. “I just…keep trying to…think of how I would feel. If the roles were switched. If  _I_ had left him, and come back, and…and  _I_  just wanted to make things right, but wasn’t sure… _how_ …”

He grimaced. “I would want to see him too. I would want to make it up to him too. If he turned me away…and if I never got the chance…I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. I would do anything to make it up to him. For the  _chance_ to, anyway. If I was him…I’d want the chance.” He stared back down at the phone, as if he was worried it would start ringing again. Which it might. His voice dropped in volume even more. “So, shouldn’t I give him the chance _I_  would want?” Kay didn’t answer; she only kept staring at him. So, he looked back up at her, practically pleading for an answer.  _He_  certainly didn’t have one. “Isn’t it… _unfair_ of me? If I don’t?”

She took her time with this question. She considered it and weighed it, and her expression only grew heavier as she did. “It’s not fair for you to think like that,” she reasoned eventually, and Cameron wilted. “You never would have done anything like this in the first place.”

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

She was walking down the hall when she heard it. A tiny, soft sound, barely audible. Kay had just gotten to the Archive from work. Dina had been in the kitchen trying to figure out what was possible to make for dinner, and Cameron had been nowhere to be found. When Kay had asked where he was, Dina admitted she wasn’t sure. The last time she’d seen him had been about an hour ago, she’d said. But she knew he hadn’t left— and why would he, anyway? There were only a couple real places he could be found. He wasn’t on the couch, and he wasn’t in Jonathan’s room, so she’d started for his room as the last resort. And the closer she got the door, the louder the sound became. The more she could actually discern what it was. 

She stopped right before she could make to the doorway. She hesitated, where she couldn’t be seen. She ducked her head and studied the floor, her heart growing heavy as she just listened. "I'm...out. Kay got— me out. I tried to—stay, f’r you, but, but I—” She stiffened, crossing her arms over her chest. She found herself biting down hard on her lower lip as she listened to the slurred and choked voice struggle on. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t, I— I messed up. And they—” She could hear a buzz of other activity in the background, nearly swallowing the tiny voice. Making it seem even smaller than it already was. “Please t'll me you're comin' back. Please come back home…I'll…won't even talk to you, if you don' want, I just…want you to be happy…”

She dared to lean out, so she could peer around the very edge of the doorframe. Cameron was sitting on the bed, his expression bleak and empty as he stared down at the phone that was resting on the mattress. His phone— the one that Jonathan had had. The one he’d called. He was listening to the saved voicemail, absolutely hollow and empty. But despite the blankness on his face, she could see the tears he was barely holding back. Kay continued to listen, but the next few sentences were enough to make her want to get sick right on the spot. “’M a…horrible person,” Cameron was choking. “I…deserved it…but please…don' be out there. With her. Please…have a plan, 'cause if you don't, then I—" Cameron ducked his head, closing his eyes in a cringe. Still, he let the recording keep playing. 

“S’ry,” it continued. “They— broke m' hand…I was…tryin' to get them off, but…they held me down, 'nd I couldn' breathe, I…" There was a long pause, in which it sounded like he was struggling to even breathe in that moment. Like he was choking on sobs, struggling to try and keep them back. There was a small whimper, a sharp gasp, before: "S'ry…'m so s'ry, 'm…" And then nothing. The mumbled rush of apologies was cut off mid-regret, and all that was left in its wake was silence. Cameron kept his head ducked, his eyes closed. He didn’t reach for the phone or do anything at all but just sit there. 

She wasn’t sure whether or not she should give herself away. But seeing Cameron like that, she found herself too worried about where he was letting his thoughts go. Her stare was heavy, and her footsteps seemed much too loud as she started forward into the room. Cameron’s eyes opened, but he said nothing. Suddenly he seemed so tired, so beaten-down. Kay sat down on the edge of the bed. She looked at the phone as well, but her attention was fixated on him. She allowed a long moment, before: “Are you okay?”

Cameron stayed silent and still for a very long time. Eventually he sighed and murmured: “No.” Being truthful, at the very least. He tried to explain himself, but the order was a tall one. “I…I just want to…” He hesitated. Inhaled quickly and tried: “I want to  _make_ …” Apparently that wouldn’t work either. Frustration was building on his face as he closed his eyes again. He grimaced. “I don’t know what to  _do_ ,” he said weakly. Kay deflated. “He…wants to…and I mean—” He gasped in again, trying to force out as much as he could. “I mean, he didn’t… _know,_ he wasn’t…it can’t… _I_ can’t…” 

Kay studied him, allowing him as much time as he needed. As many backtracks as he wanted. Because there were so many things now that couldn’t be redone, so she might as well give him this.

Cameron closed his eyes tightly. He took in a more controlled, slower breath this time. “I lost… _so much_ ,” he choked out, with obscene difficulty. Kay’s expression became wrought with pain, and only became even more so at the look she saw on his face. He swallowed hard and shook his head, opening his eyes again but just looking at the phone. Maybe he found it easier. He tended to hide his face from her whenever he was saying something extremely difficult. 

“I lost so much,” he repeated hollowly. “...I don’t want to lose my brother, too.”

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

Holidays are great in theory. Yeah, you get Christmas, with presents and Santa and all that jazz. And let’s not forget the favorite aspect: the same three songs played over and over again on the radio so relentlessly you could sing them in your sleep (except for The Christmas Shoes, because you always turn off the radio as soon as that one comes on). You wait for ages, and you plan and you prepare, and you have your advent calendar counting down the days that are left, and you sweep your living room every single day, somehow always drowning in pine needles anyway. You’re excited— of course you are! But then Christmas actually _comes_ , and the family’s here, and your uncle informs your three-year-old sister that Santa actually  _doesn’t_  exist, which makes your mom angry enough to throw the entire tree and stab him through with the star on top, and now everyone’s fighting, and your cousin is crying, and your grandma is literally forcing  _another_ cookie down your throat, and you find yourself wondering whether or not it would be a good idea to convert religions, purely so you can avoid this entire mess. 

Or Thanksgiving— that’s a good one too. You get the excuse to gorge yourself almost all the way to combustion without any kind of blame…that’s every person’s dream, right!? But then you  _get there,_  and you sit down, and suddenly here comes Aunt Susan sweeping in demanding how you’ve been, how school is going, why you still aren’t dating anyone, why you’re on the political side that you’re on, explaining why global warming simply doesn’t exist, talking about how great she’s felt since she became a vegetarian and why can’t you do the same thing, and all you can do is just sit there and stare, thinking maybe cranberry sauce isn’t really worth it. 

The end point is…family kind of has a way of ruining things. Even great things like holidays. It’s a fact you learn quick. You forget it less and less the more you experience it, and eventually, the older you get and the more you understand, the more you try to brace yourself in preparation. When family comes around, you come to know you have to build up your walls and scrape together a  _lot_  of patience so that if there  _is_ a blow-up, it is much more delayed and much less severe. The entire house ends up getting tense. You kind of _feel_  the oncoming frustration, even before it happens. It’s like the entire room gets pressurized, and you can bet that the pressure only gets worse as time goes on.

Now take  _that_  pressure, and multiply it by one million two hundred forty-seven thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine. 

That was how it felt right now.

All day it had been tense. The air was thick enough to walk on. At first, they’d attempted to get through it by keeping up distracting conversation. But as the sun started to sink and as the hour grew nearer, the conversation died off, until there was just silence. Only concerned looks, or worried glances between Kay and Dina. Resolutely, Cameron was doing his best to refuse the whole thing. He was attempting to act like nothing was wrong. Why stop now? The only hint he gave towards the discomfort and fear that was eating him away on the inside was the barely-noticeable strain in his expression, shoved to the far back in the hopes nobody else would see. That, and his silence. And the fact he was staring at the door, not even blinking.

Kay and Dina were standing in the kitchen, looking at Cameron with open concern, since his back was to them. They were silent as well, but it was only because everything they had to say, Cameron wasn’t willing to entertain. They knew this, by now. They had tried to change his mind. Or…not  _change_ it, because it was up to him. Everything was ultimately up to him. But they had been wary of the idea the moment Cameron had come out yesterday morning and declared it was what was going to happen. They’d told him he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to…that if he needed more time, it was perfectly understandable. Cameron hadn’t listened. He’d only gone to make the phone call. 

Any minute, and Jonathan was going to be at the door. Not to stay, and not accompanied by anyone else. It was just him, and he was only coming over for dinner. Dina and Kay were in silent agreement that the second the meal was through, they were kicking him right back out the door. They’d agreed in the first place because Cameron had been so earnest, and so sure that dinner couldn’t possibly be too far a step. So, dinner was what it was restricted to.

The two women had agreed together – and the agreement was only solidified in the looks they were exchanging now – that they didn’t want any part in this at all. That if it were up to them, he would be barred from the house indefinitely. Dina’s expression was more torn, and more pained. Her eyes were raw whenever they flickered back to Cameron, and Kay could practically see the grimace she was trying to stuff away. Kay’s expression was entirely different. She was stiff, and rigid. More than positive. Every so often she would shift from foot to foot, and her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. She was already gritting her teeth, already locking her jaw back. Already angry; already struggling to keep it in check. 

She’d kept her feelings away from Cameron. As best she could, anyway. Because she knew how important this was to him. She knew how torn he was, but she also knew how much he wanted things to be back to the way they were. She’d seen him grow more and more stressed with every missed phone call from his brother, and at night she’d felt his sorrow and regret like a heavy blanket over them. When he had told her this was what he wanted to do, it had only taken her a moment to put a smile on her face and reply with a simple ‘Okay.’ 

She was telling herself that it would be fine. Cameron needed closure, and if this was the type of closure he wanted, she couldn’t hold him back from it. The request had been clear in the look on his face. He was asking her to be with him on this, like she’d been with him on everything else before now. She couldn’t possibly disappoint him.

The silence was broken when there was a knock at the door. Dina closed her eyes in something much too close to a flinch. Like the sound had slapped her across the face. Kay took in a slow breath, trying to make sure it was even. She forced her arms to go back to her sides. She only looked at Cameron, who didn’t move at first. He just kept staring. But it was only a couple of seconds before he was shaking himself and going towards it. Kay pushed off the counter she was leaning against and trailed after, and Dina kept right by her side. The two of them hovered behind Cameron anxiously as he opened the door and all three were met with the familiar face that, in a way, none of them wanted to see. 

The instant he saw Cameron, there was a battle in reactions from Jonathan. At first there was shock. As if, up until this very moment, he wasn’t sure he would actually be there, or actually open the door. Then there was happiness— a pleasant kind of surprise, and Kay’s anger flared more when she caught this change. It made her remember the last time he had actually seen Cameron, and the state that Cameron had been in. He was so much better now, in comparison. He wasn’t as wasted away, he wasn’t as weak. He was actually standing and functioning without help, and that came as a  _surprise_ to Jonathan. He was  _shocked._

The detail was tiny. But it set her blood boiling at once. She bit her tongue.

Then there was uncertainty. His smile wavered just a little bit as he looked at his brother. Awkwardness was stifling between them, where it had never been before. “Hey, Cam,” he murmured, and Kay was almost certain that Cameron stiffened at the nickname. Jonathan’s expression was going soft with relief. Was it relief on Cameron’s behalf, that he was better? Or was it relief for himself, that he was being let off the hook for all that he’d done? Kay scowled, but she still stayed silent. Remembering the look on Cameron’s face when he’d pleaded with her to let him try this. “It’s really good to see you…”

A few seconds of silence followed the sentiment, in which Cameron must not have known what to say. But he dragged himself out of it, and he stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, it’s…good to see you, too.” Jonathan hesitated before he stepped over the threshold. When he did, he noticed Dina and Kay for the first time, and his face fell. His eyes went to Dina’s first, and with the unexpected attention, she wasn’t as able to keep herself in line. Her controlled expression broke, and she wilted, that pain coming back over her face as she looked at the person she had once called a friend and even something more. Someone who had not only betrayed her twice, but had betrayed Cameron so irrevocably. 

She wasn’t able to hold his stare for very long. She turned away and headed back for the oven, to the dinner she was still in the process of making. Jonathan’s eyes were left to go to Kay. She stared stonily right back at him, completely expressionless. Jonathan’s shoulders squared, and he pressed his lips together tightly, a million different things seeming to pass through his head. She didn’t offer him a hello, or even a smile. What she did do, was narrow her eyes at him the tiniest fraction. Hardly anything. Just enough to let him know that this hadn’t been her idea. And the very  _instant_ that something went wrong, he was going to be paying for it.

He was quick to look away. He turned back to Cameron, instead, as he shut the door. He regained his smile, and Kay wiped her face clean as she just took back to watching carefully. She was trying to notice every little thing— even the tiniest sense of distress. Unfortunately, she was well-versed in Cameron’s warning signs. But for now, he was only a little stiff. He met Jonathan’s smile reluctantly. But he said nothing, so, in the attempt to clog something into the silence before it could get  _too_  noticeable, Jonathan took the job. “You look a lot better.” He hesitated, before he asked: “Are you...doing okay?”

Immediately Kay went rigid, alarm rushing through her. She looked quickly between the pair, and then down at the floor. In the middle of everything, she’d almost forgotten her slip-up to Jonathan. She still hadn’t told Cameron yet. How do you find the words to explain that to someone? To tell them that you took away their decision to disclose something so horrible? It was only occurring to her just now that she should have told Cameron before Jonathan came. Hearing it from her was marginally better than hearing it from him. Guilt was wrapping hard around her throat. Her heart was quick to start ramming against her ribcage.

Cameron’s reply was soft, and stiffer than usual. “I’m fine.”

She looked back up, and her fingers curled down more into her arms. Cameron wasn’t paying attention— he was plenty distracted all on his own as he turned and started in for the kitchen. Jonathan had looked after him at first, but now he’d turned, and Kay was surprised to see him actually looking at her. The expression on his face grew sickened, the very second Cameron had turned his back. Kay could see the pain and regret and guilt like it was glowing neon. Their eyes locked, and she knew he was remembering their last interaction just as clearly as she was. 

Jonathan glanced back towards Cameron. Dina had been waiting in the kitchen, and the second he was close to her, she was turning and murmuring something to him. Neither of them could hear it from where they were, but Cameron ducked his head a little bit, and she reached out to touch his arm comfortingly. Jonathan’s eyes flashed at this, but he turned back to Kay and took the moment to walk over to her. Her eyes narrowed again when he did; she had half a mind to turn away before he got the chance to get close. Though she kept herself in line enough not to do that, she couldn’t manage to hide the way she stiffened more and more as their distance was closed.

He still had that same pained look on his face. Instead of giving her satisfaction, it just turned her stomach to see. With each step he took towards her, she remembered every single panic attack Cameron had had, every single sleepless night, every single untouched meal, every single flinch from something seemingly small. He came as close as he dared— there was a couple feet between them. And he looked at her despairingly, unsure of what to say. Kay kept her arms crossed, her expression stony. Eventually he managed to get out a small rasp. “Kay, I…never…apologized. Really. To you.” 

He kept his voice low, just in case Dina and Cameron’s conversation would end before theirs. They were still by the door, far removed. Still, Kay was worried Cameron would hear every word. “It was…I…wasn’t…thinking…” If he had words prepared, they were all turning to dust in the moment. He was just reverting back to the canned attempt he’d had before. The one that Kay had already listened to and had deemed useless.

“It seems like pulling off a plan of that caliber would take  _a whole lot_  of thinking, Jonathan.” Her words were absolutely scathing, matching her stare. Jonathan blinked, jerking backwards a little. He opened his mouth as if to say anything, but nothing came out, initially. Because there just wasn’t anything to say. Kay watched in growing disappointment as he closed his mouth and ducked his head, trying to regather himself. 

She hated just the  _sight_ of him. It turned her stomach to see him, and to know now that he was free. That this entire situation had played itself out, and the only person with lasting repercussions now was Cameron— who hadn’t even done anything. Who, from the very beginning, had just been trying to make things right. They were identical— carbon copies of the other. But seeing them together, side-by-side, Cameron looked so much  _smaller_ than him. So much  _tinier._ Because, thanks to Jonathan, so much of himself had been stripped away. 

Jonathan took in a slow breath and he forced himself to look back up at her. Silently, she was  _daring_ him to fight her, or try to defend himself. But he didn’t. When he spoke, it was about something else entirely. “I didn’t tell him,” he whispered. Kay shifted her weight and crossed her arms even tighter, but she didn’t speak. He was looking at her more earnestly now. “I won’t tell him what you—” 

He choked on it. It reminded her of the nights she woke up to Cameron fighting for air, either because he was strangling himself or just somehow under the impression breathing was impossible and turning pale all on his own. It was one of the more common ways for her to jar awake. Next to hearing him screaming, or feeling him tense or twist in her arms. Horrible it is to acknowledge, it was always an easier problem to fix when his hands were around his neck. Then, all she had to do was yank them away. Let him  _see_  the pressure being  _physically removed_. Whenever she woke up to him just choking on his own, it was always more painful.

Her eyes would snap open and she would freeze in panic the moment she’d register his weak gagging, his pale color. She would shift her hold and pull him close and run a hand along the side of his face desperately to wake him up. But even when his eyes would open his lungs would still refuse to work— he would still be trapped in the mentality that breathing wasn’t an option. Though she’d done it many times, she was always just as scared whenever it happened. Whenever she had to move his face so that he could maybe see her, how she had to stroke his cheek and lean in close and try to soothe him, and make him understand there was nothing keeping him from breathing. “Cameron, you’re okay— there’s nothing wrong, you can breathe, just breathe, calm down, you’re okay! Breathe!” Sometimes it didn’t take long at all for him to realize. Sometimes it took twenty full seconds to finally be able to suck in his first gasp of air. Whatever the length of time, the same look was always on his face as he stared at her, and by now it was burned into her mind. How blank with terror he was, how panicked he grew when he couldn’t make his lungs actually work, how his eyes were unnaturally bright with tears. 

How tortured he was.

All of this flashed in her mind in less than an instant, at Jonathan’s tiniest choke. That remnant of fear and sorrow curled like a tight ball in her chest. Her scowl deepened. He saw this, but tried to go on anyway. “I didn’t tell him,” he revised a little lamely. With the amount of pain on his face, one would think he was being stabbed. “I…won’t tell him. I’ll…if he…wants to tell me, I’ll…” Kay watched as he ducked away again, like a turtle that wasn’t sure whether or not it was safe to come out of its shell. It was just darting in and out, because it simply didn’t know. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead. His voice was weaker, and she saw that his eyes were growing shiny with tears. He coughed in the back of his throat and ended weakly: “If he wants to tell me, he will. But I won’t tell him anything else.” 

Kay was silent at first. She glanced down at the ground, and then she turned to look over her shoulder, to where Cameron was. He was still talking with Dina— she still seemed concerned, maybe even more so now. Cameron’s shoulders were hunched; he was shaking his head and trying to step away from her. Tension was radiating off of him already in waves. All day, he’d been visibly trying to hold himself together. The thought of it already falling away from him was awful. 

She weakened. She didn’t know whether to feel horrible because she’d let it slip in the first place, or enraged at Jonathan for the fact he’d created the entire situation as it was. Why hadn’t he just trusted Cameron? Why hadn’t she just kept her mouth shut? Why had he left him there? Why hadn’t she  _known_ it wasn’t Cameron she talked to— why hadn’t she gotten to him faster? Why didn’t _Jonathan_ come back faster?

Who did she blame more, for all of this?

She looked back, and the whisper left her mouth before she could stop herself. “Am I supposed to say thank you?” The question was hollow. Jonathan said nothing, but the pain that broke out over his face said enough. Kay just wasn’t in the mood to listen. She turned, finding herself too sick to keep looking at not only the reason for all this mess, but at the person who now stood as a visual reminder of the way Cameron had been before. When she looked back at him and saw all the details Jonathan did not share – the thin frame, the hunched shoulders, the bruised skin, the dull look in his eyes – she found the pain even more acute.

But she ignored it. Just like she was ignoring her repulsion towards Jonathan, she was ignoring this as well, and her anger immediately dissipated when Cameron turned to look at her. She could see the anxiety on his face, worse now after whatever Dina had pulled him aside with. He looked at Kay and she saw a muted form of the panic he had whenever he woke up unable to breathe, or shoving himself away from her. She saw how much it was taking for him to keep himself calm and do this, but she could also see the silent plead in his eyes for her to help. For her to be there, even though he must know full well her opinion on the matter.

He needed her. So she ignored it. And she smiled kindly, shoving down her anger and simply walking back to his side, where she was determined to stay, despite everything else. 

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

Conversation was sparse. In hindsight, they should have been prepared for the tension. And maybe in a way they were, but at the same time it was difficult to properly imagine just how severe it would be. Was. The air was near painful just to breathe around. Nobody really looked at each other for longer than a couple of seconds. Save for Dina and Kay, who would swap nervous and wary glances every so often. They shared it all. Concern that this was doing more harm than good. Fear that this would set Cameron back somehow, when so much progress had been made. Pain that they had no choice but to smile and be cordial to the man that had ruined everything and had done so much, just because Cameron had asked them to.

Dina’s expression was rawer. Her smiles were flimsier, her voice was duller. Kay wasn’t offering much in terms of conversation, because Jonathan wasn’t even looking at her anymore. Probably because he couldn’t. But he tried with Dina. He’d smiled at her, and he’d said hello, and he’d asked how she was doing. She couldn’t ignore him. But Kay could see the pain it inflicted. She knew they had a larger history, a more complicated one. She knew Dina’s feelings towards him weren’t nearly as black-and-white as hers were. She knew that no matter how deep this was cutting into her, the pain was tenfold for Dina. Currently she was absorbing herself in cooking. Her expression was pulled. Her shoulders were hunched. 

Cameron was sitting by Jonathan, studying the wood grain of the table. Jonathan was glancing at him what seemed like every other second. A couple times he opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but he was always taking it back. Looking away again with a hint of a grimace. Kay was standing nearer to Dina, her arms crossed like she was cold. She wasn’t even really trying to disguise the hard look she was shooting Jonathan. Not when Cameron wasn’t paying attention. Purposefully, Jonathan kept his eyes averted from her. Though the subtle shift every so often in his chair showed he was painfully aware regardless. 

Cameron was messing with his sleeves, tugging them down over his hands and back again only to repeat the process. He was wearing a hoodie, a look that Kay had never seen him in before all this, and yet now, seven out of ten days he was sporting. She knew why he chose them. And she knew it was just easier. He hardly even fixed his hair anymore— going to the trouble of dressing to the nines like he usually did was long gone. Another painfully obvious fact, when put by Jonathan’s side. 

Eventually, he took in a breath that was a bit quicker than normal. He straightened up and blinked rapidly, like he was shaking himself out of a stupor. Snapping at himself to knock it off, which Kay regrettably knew was probably the case. “So.” It was painful how Jonathan immediately stiffened and looked at him. With surprise, relief, guilt, happiness— the look he had was pathetic. Luckily, Cameron had still been looking at the table. By the time he picked his head back up, everything was wiped clean. He lifted his lips into a smile – the expression ending there – as he asked: “How have you been?” Kay looked away, sticking her tongue hard into her cheek. “How’s…freedom treating you?” 

Jonathan paused for a moment, not reacting at all as he just stared at his brother. But then he smiled, and laughed a little bit, ducking his head and clearing his throat. “It’s…it’s fine.” Cameron smiled a little more. There was pain behind the grin. A kind of relief that was hard to really distinguish. “I mean I haven’t…done too much,” Jonathan kept going awkwardly. He laughed again, only because he was trying to fill up the empty space between them. “It’s kind of…funny how…similar it is. I just…sit. Without too much to do.” He was trying to joke, because Cameron wasn’t able to fulfill the role like he normally did. It didn’t suit him. “Time goes by just as slow.”

Cameron’s eyes flashed. He looked back down at the table. “Yeah.” The word came out hollow. 

Jonathan’s face fell. For a moment, the entire place was swallowed in silence again. Jonathan tried to break it— tried to keep his voice light, still. “You know…it’s a good thing you aren’t cooking.” Cameron roused, looking at him with a tiny frown. Jonathan smiled. “You, uh…you remember that time you got it in your head you could bake? Well, not  _just_ bake— you thought you could make those...three, four-tiered cakes.” It took a second, but Cameron retrieved the memory. He began to crack into a smile, and this time, it was more genuine. In effect, Jonathan’s smile turned into a beam. “I  _told_ you not to do it; I told you you’d need at least a little bit of practice before you went all out, but you never listen to me.” He threw a hand out in exasperation. “You almost burned the entire building down.”

Cameron’s grin grew even more. A ghost of laughter was hiding behind his reply. “I  _did not._ I actually did pretty decently for someone who’s never made a cake before in their entire life.” Jonathan snickered, shaking his head, and Cameron straightened, his voice starting to squeak, like it always did whenever it raised octaves. “No, it  _was_ impressive! I had the four cakes! I  _had_ the four things! It was all there!”

“Is that your version of success? The bare minimum?” Jonathan demanded. “They all looked different, your fondant looked like it had gone through a  _shredder_ , and you dumped  _five_ tubs of frosting on it! It looked horrible. Don’t even get me started on the taste. You almost sent Jordan to the hospital.”

Cameron sat back, flashing him a mocking glare. “You are not giving me credit where credit is due.”

“And then there was the time you started the grease fire and thought water was the best way to put it out.”

“ _Okay_ the grease fire wasn’t my fault, and  _why_ wouldn’t water put it out? It wasn’t  _wrong_ of me.”

“Literally everyone understands you can’t put out a grease fire with water,” Jonathan flashed. “I knew that when I was seven.” 

“That’s just false, because I was with you the entire time you were seven, so I would have heard the lesson too,” he refuted. 

“ _Please,_ you never listened to anyone,” Jonathan dismissed. “ _Especially_ when we were kids. Sometimes I’d just  _sneak_  random phrases into conversations to test if you were listening and you never even realized.” Cameron snorted. Kay was watching the exchange tensely; she turned to Dina to see that her friend had stopped hunching over the stove. She was looking back, but she wasn’t looking back at Kay. This time, she was just staring at the two of them. The expression she wore was unbelievably pained. Agonized, almost. But there was also happiness, at the same time, deep below the surface...getting stronger. 

Kay’s stomach dropped as she realized her eyes were welling up with tears. They were watering more and more as Cameron kept laughing. As he began to get more comfortable, as his smile grew as he looked at his brother. As they almost looked like their old selves. “I’m serious!” Jonathan blustered. “One time I literally looked right at you and said I was going sprout wings and fly to Russia while you were asleep, and you just nodded. I’m not even  _talking_  about when me or Dad asked you to do something and the soonest you’d do it would be four hours later— that’s an entirely separate issue.”

For the tiniest of seconds, Cameron’s smile faltered. Kay stiffened at once, picking up on the tiny, barely-there change. So small Jonathan didn’t even really realize it was there. But she saw his wilt, she saw his small double-take. She saw that look he’d get on his face whenever he was dragged back into some thought process she couldn’t even begin to understand. It was there, and it was clouding forward, and she started to push herself off the counter to intervene. 

When all of a sudden it was gone in just a quick a flash as it had come. Kay stopped short as he started laughing again, brightening right back up. “Well that’s just because nobody tells me what to do,” he quipped. Jonathan rolled his eyes, and he snickered again. “Anyway, you’re one to talk— you were always crabby.” She wilted, slowly and reluctantly leaning back again. Her frown stayed worried on her face. “You’d complain about every little thing— the second someone asked  _you_ to do something, it was like the entire world ended. You remember that time you hid for an entire  _day_ because you didn’t want to do the dishes?” 

“It’s not my fault you  _suck_ at finding things, Cam.” The nickname was overlaid with overt, uncharacteristic affection. 

“Well, it’s not my fault you suck as a human being in general,” he threw back cheekily. His eyes were sparkling; this was the longest he had kept this beam on his face. The longest he’d laughed as he started all over again when Jonathan did. The two were entirely in their own little world, separated now from Dina and Kay. Laughing and teasing and not even registering anything else. Kay’s face slowly began to fall, uncertainty and wariness overwhelming her now as she watched the two of them together. At how happy Cameron was. At how his voice almost sounded normal, if you ignored the way it squeaked on every other word. At the  _happiness_ that was there. The  _relief,_ the  _normalcy_. So quickly gained because he’d been so starved of it.

Kay turned and looked at Dina again, trying to find at least a  _sense_  of her shared hesitation.

But Dina was still just watching them. Still smiling wide with happiness and sorrow, so mingled together it was impossible to tell which was more prominent. If one was  _even_  more prominent. Jonathan was recalling the time Cameron had been adamant that he could stack ten plates on his head and balance up high at the same time. Cameron was immediately pointing out that he  _had_ done it, and if Jonathan hadn’t  _pushed_ him, he could have stayed there as long as he wanted. To which Jonathan cried that he was five full feet away from him and could in no way have caused the failure.

Dina watched them banter back and forth. Watched them grin and snicker and be  _together._ When one of her tears fell, she stiffened and immediately swiped it away, shaking herself and turning back to the stove. But Kay had seen it all the same. And it made her feel even hollower when she turned back to Cameron. 

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

“We’re  _not_ playing Slapjack.”

“Why in the _world_  can’t we play Slapjack?”

“ _Because,_  Cameron— you always just  _slap every single card!_ You don’t play it right!”

“I don’t like your tone,” he snapped, but there was no hiding the smile that was on his face. His eyes were fostering their glow again. He had a little bit of his old demeanor back— his excitement, like he was already wanting to rush to the next thing. Kay remembered it always used to bug her: how ecstatic he was over everything, and how it always seemed like he was barely keeping a lid on his eagerness, even over the something tiny. Once they’d been walking through the park looking for a suspect, and Cameron had suddenly gasped so loud it caused her to start to reach for her gun— she’d stopped once he took off running for the dog that was being walked past them. Back then she thought it was annoying. She’d roll her eyes at the giddy look he’d get. Seeing it now, not all the way back but the closest yet, brought so much relief that it hurt to see. 

That smile was back, that  _light_ was back, and yet...

“What about Crazy Eights?” Her smile died as her eyes flickered back to Jonathan. He was smiling, too. Matching Cameron’s grin perfectly. Identically.

“We can’t play Crazy Eights,  _you_ always cheat and put down more than one card,” Cameron snapped. 

“Both of you are terrible!” The two of them looked at Dina as she announced this, grinning. Her eyes were softer than they were before. Though she hadn’t been talking nearly as much as Cameron had, and though she wasn’t nearly as ecstatic as he was, she had thawed slowly over dinner, talking more and more as the night went on. She’d stopped glancing worriedly at Kay. Kay tried not to feel put out by this. Old habits died hard, and this was a habit much more engrained than what was happening right now. She could see it on her face: the nostalgia. The need – much like Cameron’s own – to have this sense of family back. She wasn’t all the way there. When Jonathan looked at her, and Cameron looked back down to cards, Dina’s smile wavered just the tiniest bit. She seemed sadder, as she looked at him, and his expression turned a little sad as well. Something seemed to pass between them only they could make sense of.

But unlike Kay, Dina was able to shrug it off more. Kay would prefer to think it was just because Cameron had asked her to, and she was just better at hiding her real feelings than she was. But she knew better. “We need to play a game that takes no skill, obviously,” Dina continued, and Cameron scoffed something along the lines of ‘I have skill  _everywhere.’_  Despite everything, Kay’s expression turned fond when she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. For the moment it was here, she was savoring every bit of Cameron’s spirit. “How about Chase the Ace?” 

Kay had never heard of it, but obviously Cameron had. He gasped and slammed his good hand on the table, his eyes going wide.  _“Yes!”_  It sounded like he won the lottery. Jonathan hung his head and snickered, and Cameron sat back in his chair happily. “We haven’t played that in  _forever_.” 

“What’s Chase the Ace?” Kay asked. 

Cameron looked at her like she’d asked what the FBI was. “You’ve never played Chase the Ace!?” he squeaked. Her expression softened as she made a show of resting her head down on her hand and looking at him expectantly. He grinned and gestured around their tiny group. “The goal of the game is to screw over the person sitting next to you, basically. Everyone gets dealt a card and you don’t want an ace because that’s an automatic lose. And you don’t want a low number in general. So, if you don’t like your card, and you think it might be the lowest in the group, you can switch with the person to your left. And it just goes in a circle one time through.  _I_ always win,” he chirped. “And we always play for money.”

“Everyone just gets  _three quarters_ ,” Jonathan huffed. 

“That means I can buy three things at the dollar store by the time it’s over,” Cameron pointed out. He was still fiddling with the deck in his hands. He’d taken the brace off of his injured one for the time being. Usually he kept it on just because it was easier, and it made it ache less. By now, the fracture was near healed. But it certainly wasn’t as strong as the other hand. He’d tried deck shooting the other morning, and the cards had gone everywhere. He’d looked at the mess in despairing frustration. None of that was seen now. He was perfectly content. 

Dina left to scrounge up some quarters. Jonathan held out a hand. “Here, give me the deck.”

Cameron jerked, his eyes going wide. His hand slipped, and he nearly dropped the every one of them. Luckily, he saved them just before it could happen. But the look on his face was getting Kay to sit up stiffly and lean towards him a little bit. “What?” he asked, like he didn’t even know what they were talking about anymore. He hesitated before he turned and looked at him. His brother had frozen just like Kay had. His eyebrows were knitting together with worry and confusion. Cameron asked again, blankly: “...What’d you say?”

Jonathan looked from him to the cards, frowning. “The  _deck_ ,” he repeated, a little slower. Cameron blinked a few times, following his twin’s gaze. He perked, but said nothing. “Give it to me; I can be the dealer.” 

Cameron was still blinking fast. But he was getting over whatever hurdle he’d suddenly slammed into. “Oh— yeah. Duh.” He handed it over, and Jonathan took it slowly. He still looked at him with concern, and for a second it seemed like he was going to ask if everything was alright. But he thought better of it, and reluctantly began to shuffle. Cameron was wearing an odder, more artificial smile now. His eyes flickered to Kay. She wasn’t even trying to pretend she wasn’t paying attention to him. When he looked at her, she tilted her head just a little, the worry on her face asking the silent question: ‘Are you okay?’ 

His smiler turned more fragile, and he just shook his head, as if to say, ‘It’s stupid, don’t worry about it.’ She started to try and say something, but he wasn’t giving her the chance. He turned away on purpose. She saw that he was gripping his knees tightly— a bad habit of his. Her face fell even more. She was confused, as she looked at the cards that were now in Jonathan’s hands, trying to figure out what had gone wrong. It was like staring at a math equation that was purposefully created to not have a logical answer.

Cameron piped up, his voice pumped thick with a happiness that seemed much faker. “We should play for more than just quarters.” 

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

They should _not_  play for more than just quarters. Quarters was more than enough. 

Anything else would surely be deadly.

Who knew a card game – especially a card game as repetitive and quick as this – could last for more than one hour. And yet here they were. It was going on eight at night by now, and if anyone poked their head in and witnessed what was currently happening, they would have thought the group was knee-deep in the most cutthroat game of poker that had ever existed. Dina’s attempt at keeping up her guard had slipped more and more with every game, as she got caught up. She was smiling more, her voice was brighter, she was laughing along with them. She had a soft spot— for both of the Black twins. Somehow Jonathan was keeping his hold on her. Just like he’d kept his hold on her when he’d cheated, and yet coerced her into stealing Mike’s badge for him. History seemed doomed to repeat itself.

Kay, on the other hand, was still silent. Not dampening the fun but not adding to it, either. She was merely a bystander. Someone for Cameron to look at every so often and get a tiny smile from, but that was it. A couple times she tried to relax along with them, but the effort put a bad taste in her mouth. She couldn’t. Everyone else was happy just forgetting, at least for now, but she couldn’t be the same. Jonathan was smiling, yes, and so was Cameron, and he was being nothing but nice to him. But there had been no apology. No sincere, heartfelt apology to Cameron’s face. No taking of the blame that was rightfully his. Not a “This is why I did it, and why I felt like I had to” but a “I shouldn’t have done it and there is absolutely no excuse.”

Kay was waiting for that. Admittedly…even if he did get it, she still wasn’t sure she’d be satisfied. 

But at the bare minimum. It still wasn’t there in the first place. 

Jonathan was trying to take an eraser to something that was written down in pen.

“One, two, three!” At the count, they all revealed their cards. Kay had a six, Jonathan had a ten, Dina had a three, and Cameron had a two. Immediately, he whined, making a sound that was much too similar to what a pterodactyl had probably sounded like. Jonathan started laughing, and Cameron pointed at him accusingly. “ _You_ shut up—  _you’re_ the one that gave me this stupid card! What am I supposed to do!?”

“You’re supposed to put one of your quarters in the middle,” Jonathan chirped. He was dancing one of his smugly in between his fingers; he still had all three of the ones he’d started with. Cameron scowled down at his remaining stash; he just had one left, after shoving this one into the middle pile as well. Not that it really mattered; they just kept reusing the same quarters so nobody had actually had any monetary gain. However, it was the principle of the thing. “Wow, Cam, you got  _so_  bad at this game,” he remarked, smirking.

Cameron threw his arms up in the air.  _“_ _Apparently!”_  He had only won one game out of all of them. 

“You’re a worse card player than you are a magician,” Jonathan snickered.

"That is rude and uncalled for on a number of levels,” he sighed in dramatic disappointment.

“Cameron wasn’t the one that nearly ruined the entirety of Madison Square Garden,  _Jonathan,”_  Dina interjected, throwing him a teasing look. Cameron declared a smug ‘Aha!’ that was almost lost against his throat. “If you want to point fingers, I would stand in front of a mirror first.”

“Hey, that  _wasn’t my fault!”_ Kay had been watching the exchange in silence, but at Jonathan’s cry, her eyes flashed, and she looked back down at the table. “That was entirely on Gunter, he just doesn’t want to admit it! And it’s not like anyone  _noticed!_ It was perfectly fine! They had us  _back_ , didn’t they?”

“We  _have_  to keep playing, I have to beat you,” Cameron grumbled.

“You can’t even beat  _Dina_ _.”_

“Watch me.”

Kay was dealer this round. She doled them out silently, and when she gave Jonathan his card, he purposefully didn’t look at her. His smile wilted just a little bit. She tried not to notice. They all looked at their own cards. Cameron grinned and declared: “I’m going to keep mine.”

Immediately, Jonathan announced: “I’m switching with Cam.”

 _“You—! No!”_ Cameron flew out, shoving Jonathan hard. Jonathan snorted, shoving him back, and they fell into a tussle, lashing out at the other.  _“Let me have this one thing!”_ Cameron snapped, Jonathan curling away from him and laughing as his brother smacked him.  _“I have so little! Just give me the_ _freakin_ _’_ _quarters!”_ Jonathan snickered, but shoved his card in Cameron’s face. Cameron squeaked again and just started pummeling him more, yelling:  _“It’s an_ ace!”

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

This was a bad idea. The whole night was a bad idea, but  _this_  was making it worse. She knew it was bad. She knew she wanted to stop it. She knew it would be  _better_  for her to. But she couldn’t. She just sat, and she just watched. Ever since the night Cameron had called her drunk from the bar, they’d done away with all the alcohol. It had been Dina’s decision to. No more in the house, was what she’d said— it had been a safety precaution. But before too long, and she should have anticipated it coming, Jonathan had noticed, and in effect, Cameron had finally noticed as well. Before now, he’d been so preoccupied he hadn’t even been able to do so. But when Jonathan asked if they had anything, he’d looked up, and he’d made a face, putting the pieces together.

Kay had expected Dina to side with her, and insist they didn’t need to drag it all out. Dina had stashed everything away somewhere— it would be safer to throw it out, but it would also be a huge waste, and Kay had trusted Dina to know exactly where to put everything so Cameron couldn’t get to it. So far it had more than worked. Now it was being brought up and Cameron was looking at the two of them expectantly as they flopped over how to answer. Kay was about to say it was all out, and that it was too late to go out and get any more. She was hoping Dina would take her side. Just to avoid potential issues.

And certainly, at the request, she’d seemed a little unsure. But Kay was left disappointed when Dina had spoken up and said she could get out a few bottles. There wasn’t as much of a harm with it, in her eyes. They were all together, they were having a good time, and Cameron was going better in general anyway. It wasn’t like they could always lock it away from him for the rest of his life. Doubly, she knew Kay would hover like she had been, and she would keep an eye on him. So, she’d gone to do just that. Going to whatever hiding hole she managed to have in this huge place that Cameron didn’t know about and bring it back so they could sit and drink and talk. 

Which led them to right now.

Kay was watching Cameron with open wariness. He was on his third drink— he needed to stop. He was eating more than he had been, but he still wasn’t eating a  _lot,_ or  _enough._ The alcohol was going to his head more easily. But, still. She couldn’t fight. She couldn’t bright herself to do anything that would take away his brilliant smile. His beam. Not yet, anyway. Though she was keeping careful track of how much he was having. 

They’d stopped playing cards a while ago— now they were just together. Enjoying one another’s company. Cameron was on cloud nine as he laughed and talked with his brother. They were sitting closer together, and Cameron was relaxed, not stiff with anxiety anymore. He wasn’t leaning away from him like he’d been at the start of the night— he was turned fully in his direction. There wasn’t any amount of hindering at all in his expression or his attitude. 

And Jonathan...Kay had never seen him so happy. She’d never seen him smile this much, or smile in this way. She’d never seen the amount of softness in his eyes whenever Cameron laughed or shoved him. Maybe Dina hadn’t either— maybe it was just the relief of this respite that was fueling the overt affection. Whatever it was, it didn’t sit right with her. To her, he didn’t deserve to be wearing such an expression. Not yet, anyway. 

The two of them were currently mixing up everything at their disposal, like they were chemists. It had started because Dina had announced she knew a good drink to make from what was available, and it had actually been very good. Jonathan had one-upped her with his own mixture, and Cameron had tried to one-up the both of them, but ended up making something completely horrible. Now, they were just making horrible drinks on purpose. Trying to out-do the other when it came to creating something vomit-inducing, and making a game of trying to get down the whole thing. It was Cameron’s turn, and so far, he’d dumped sugar, salt, pepper, and mustard into a glass of straight vodka. He put it down in front of Jonathan like it was a magnificent prize, Jonathan hanging his head and closing his eyes with a look that clearly said: ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ 

“Go!” Cameron snapped. “We don’t have all night!”

“Okay fine,” he huffed. He grabbed the glass and eyed it warily. Cameron was grinning from ear-to-ear, but he somehow managed to smile even more when Jonathan tried to take a drink and immediately jerked backwards, shaking his head fast. Cameron started practically crying with laughter, bending over at the waist. Jonathan’s expression was so repulsed, it looked like he’d swallowed an entire lemon. “That’s disgusting!” he snapped, putting the drink down and throwing a glare at Cameron, who was still cackling. “You win, that’s gross. I can’t drink that.”

“Yeah you  _can!”_ Cameron gasped, sitting back up. “You just do it  _fast!”_ Jonathan shook his head again, and Cameron slammed his hand down on the table, throwing his head back. _“C’mon!_ You just  _do it!_ You can’t _think_  about it, that just makes it  _worse!”_ Jonathan kept shaking his head, though, and Cameron groaned in disappointment.  _“Weak!_ Lame— you’re  _so_  lame,” he grumbled, slouching back in his chair. 

Jonathan gestured invitingly. “ _You_ do it, then!” 

Cameron flashed him a look, then sat up straighter. He reached out and grabbed the cup and tried to take it like a shot. His expression pulled, like Jonathan’s, but he choked it down anyway. Kay wilted, watching him with a heavy heart. He gagged afterwards, but he kept it down. He shook himself, and smiled; though his grins were just as big, they were sloppier and fuzzier, now. Kay couldn’t find as much relief in them.  _“Ha!”_  he declared, smugly. “ _Now_ who’s the  _bitch!?”_  

Kay frowned, looking at him oddly.

 _“What!?”_ Jonathan cried, barely able to get the yell out, he was laughing so much. “I never  _called_ you that!”

Cameron’s eyebrows rose. He sat back heavily again and made a face, rolling his eyes. He ignored Kay’s look, if he even noticed it in the first place. He just scoffed underneath his breath, like he was skeptical.  _“Okay_ _.”_

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

“Hey.” It was getting later. It was almost midnight, by now. Bit by bit, going unnoticed in the thick of conversation and merriment, Kay had been putting the alcohol away one bottle at a time. None of the others were paying enough attention to call her out on it, if they cared. Dina had changed seats; now, she was sitting at Jonathan’s side, so, in her words of course, she could hear him better. The three were so invested in each other that Kay could have been a ghost. She kind of felt that way. But she didn’t want to be all that involved in the first place, so she was willing to take it. They’d had enough anyway. Cameron especially.

Jonathan had been the one to pipe up. Dina had just finished telling a story Kay hadn’t listened to. It most likely had been something about the past. It was all reminiscing, simply because that helped them pretend nothing was wrong right now. There had been a tiny period of silence following the memory, and the silence was what spurred him on. His voice was a little sloppy. Cameron was tucked into himself, perched on the chair with his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms pressed into his stomach. His head was on his knees, his shoulders a little curled, like he was trying to make himself as small as possible. He roused at once at this, though. He turned, his blinks a little groggy. “Hm?”

Jonathan leaned on the table, looking at his brother with an expression that was much more affectionate than it had been all night. “Thanks for having me over, Cam,” he said quietly. Cameron sat a little straighter. His eyes, as foggy as they were, lit up a little bit. Jonathan smiled. “Thanks for...letting me come back. I missed you.” A weak smile slowly crawled over Cameron’s face. Jonathan turned and looked at Dina too, his eyes staying just as soft. “I missed you a lot. It’s really good to see you. The both of you. And... it’s nice to finally be here again.”

Dina melted. Kay’s heart sank at the look on her face, and in her eyes. “It’s nice to have you back,” she returned, and there was no doubt in whether or not she meant it. Kay closed her eyes, wondering why it was so easy for her to lose her footing on this. She tried to ignore how much her stomach was twisting. “It hasn’t felt quite the same, without you here.”

It hasn’t felt the same since Jonathan  _ruined_  everything.

Kay’s thoughts were sliced through and shattered when Jonathan turned back to Cam and started again. “And Cam, I can’t... _tell_ you how sorry I am. I’m  _really_ sorry. About the...whole thing.” Cameron’s smile faded. His expression grew sadder. “I  _really_ am. I’m the worst brother. For...doing what I did, and I want to make it up to you. I  _do_. And I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care how long it takes me, I wanna make it up to you somehow. I wanna to do whatever I can.”

Dina was looking between the two of them. She cleared her throat, pushing away from the table with a small: ‘I’ll be right back.’ She shot Kay a look when she did, a silent means of asking her to come along and give them a moment. But Kay didn’t want to. She stayed where she was. Dina’s eyes flashed, but she reluctantly kept walking. This entire time, Cameron was silent, just staring at Jonathan and digesting the sentiment. He didn’t even turn to watch when Dina headed down the hall, pretending to need to get something. Eventually, he cracked a tiny smile. “You d’n’t have to do anythin’,” he practically whispered. 

“I do,” he objected. Cameron started to shake his head, but the expression on Jonathan’s face was enough to stop him. “I  _do,_  though. I  _do_.” He hesitated, before he nodded again. “I do.” The two words were flat, and mumbled out. Before Cameron could say anything, Jonathan sucked in a sharper breath, and he reached out, putting a hand on Cameron’s shoulder and keeping it there. Cameron looked at his touch the moment it came, but he didn’t pull away. “Hey,” Jonathan repeated again, in that same monotone. Cameron looked back at him, in time to see his eyebrows raise imploringly. His next question came out quieter. ”Are you okay?”

He’d already asked it, but he hadn’t asked it  _this_ way. He was drunk – they both were, Jonathan just less so – but he was looking at Cameron steadier, and sadder. Pleading with him to tell him the truth. Cameron blinked a couple times. “I’m f—” He was starting to reply, but he stopped short, perking. His eyes widened. “N—wai— where's—?” He turned quickly all around, like he forgot where he was and was trying to get his bearings. He started to look alarmed, and Kay began to lean forward, when he finally turned enough to see her. The second he did, the alarm vanished and he grinned. She deflated, looking at him with apprehension. But he just smiled. He reached out like he was going to touch her, but his arm went limp halfway through and it just dropped to the table. “Oh, no— she’s right here,” he laughed. She opened her mouth, but he was already turning back to Jonathan. “’M fine,” he declared.

She weakened.

Jonathan looked at her, a frown creasing over his face. When she realized this, her gaze turned slightly reproachable. He shifted uneasily in his chair. He ducked his head a little bit and hesitated, before he mumbled: “I was...wrong about Kay, Cam.” He looked at her as he said this, despite the fact he was addressing his brother. Kay’s lips pressed together hard. For some reason, her stomach was twisting. “She’s different. She’s good.” 

“Yeah,” Cameron gushed, sinking back into his knees. Softly, but wholeheartedly, he murmured: “I love her.” Casually, like it didn’t matter, and he’d said it a million times before. She did a double-take, looking at him with something close to the same alarm he’d had when he’d thought she’d left. He wasn’t even paying attention to her, though; he was staring ahead, too disoriented. After a heartbeat, though, he snorted, and grinned. “Sh’s way too  _good_ for me, though.”

Kay wilted even more. She tried to interject. “Cameron...”

Jonathan was taking another drink of what was left in his cup, and he choked a little at this. He looked at Cameron, and his eyes flashed mischievously. “Well,  _I_ certainly wasn’t going to say anything!” Cameron ducked his head and started giggling; Kay flashed a warning glare at Jonathan. He was oblivious. But he was quick to lean over and nudge Cameron again, shaking his head. “C’mon, you’re  _the amazing Cameron Black.”_ The chirp was layered in sarcasm. “Nothing is ever too good for you.”

“ _No, I’m_   _here,_  and  _she’s_...” He put one hand down a millimeter above the table. He raised his other as high as it would go; the only reason he didn’t put it all the way up was because of the pain the stretching caused him. He stopped short and huffed as he let them both fall. He laughed again. “I dunno— ’s bullshit. The whole thing— the whole thing is just one big, giant...big...” He gestured awkwardly, and sighed as he threw him another look. “I’m  _done._ With like _...pretty much everything.”_

Kay stiffened. She cleared her throat and grabbed his elbow gently. “Cameron, it’s getting late...”

Cameron jerked his arm back, not even looking at her. She grimaced at the harsh yank. “An’ you know what  _else_ I’m done with!?” he demanded. Jonathan was laughing again. ”’M  done...with... _thewholething_ , ‘m done with...” He started to count clumsily on his fingers. “Helping people, that’s gone, shouldn’t do that anymore— I am done with...I don’ like the little  _dogs_ that people have in their little purses!” he exploded, flipping on a dime. “’M done! If you are gonna have a dog...and ’s gonna be  _that cute...just hold it! Why aren’t you holding it!? It doesn’t like the bag!_ I bet it doesn’ like the bag,” he ended in a grumble. As the night wore on, so did his voice. 

“You don’t know,” Jonathan pointed out. “Maybe they do.”

“’Nd you know what else I’m done with?” Kay watched as his expression darkened for just a split second. It was more difficult to tell, thanks to the fact he was so wasted. However, she picked up on the brief but haunted expression. “’M done with— the shows.” Jonathan straightened, clearly surprised. Cameron shook his head again. “No more— shows,” he kept sticking on the word. “You shouldn’t’ve had to do them, but I...jus’ don’t want to do them at all. Anymore. So. ‘M done with shows. No more shows.”

It took Jonathan a second to wrap his head around. ”Cam you don’t...you don’t have to do that.”

“’M not  _doing_ anything, I don’t want to do them anymore,” he replied. “So we won‘t.” 

Jonathan looked at him for a long moment. Kay’s eyes were flickering carefully between the two. She was sitting on the very edge of her chair. “We’ll fix it,” he announced suddenly. Cameron blinked, looking at him blearily. He was still in that defensive sort of curl. Jonathan offered him a smile. “We’ll fix it,” he repeated, more bracing. “Just because Dad was...doesn’t mean we have to be. And...I know I messed up...but...I think we can still fix it. The whole thing.” He hesitated, before he prompted hesitantly: “...Right?” 

Cameron said nothing for a long time. As he started to reply, he reached out for his glass again, uncurling and dropping his legs again so he could stretch easier. He wasn’t looking; he extended out too far on accident. “Maybe...not the who—” Trying to pull his arm back, he accidentally knocked over the cup on the way. and all that was left in it splashed back over him. It was only about a third full. But it still got all over the table, and him. Kay immediately jumped up and rushed for the kitchen to get some paper towels. Cameron looked at himself in bleary confusion.  

“You okay?” Jonathan asked, grabbing the glass and setting it aside. “I think you might’ve had enough Cam.”

Kay was getting as many paper towels as she could. She heard Cameron’s soft reply. “’M’fine, I...’s’fine...”

“Here, let me help—”

“I got it.”

“Wait, you...just...”

There was a tiny gap of silence. Kay was just turning with the hoard of towels, when Jonathan’s voice made her freeze immediately. “What the  _fuck_?” It was wildly different than it had been before. All night he’d been so happy, just being there with Cameron. The more he drank the more it oozed affection or humor or anything else along that line. Now it was the polar opposite. It was shocked and confused, but most of all it was choked thick. It was appalled. Initially, she had no idea what the matter was. What had changed in such a short amount of time, while her back was turned. Until she did a double-take and really  _looked_  at Cameron, and she realized.

He’d taken off the sweatshirt.

It had gotten wet. With the lack of on-hand napkins, his first impulse was to just slip it off over his head. It was clear by the look on his face that he hadn’t even been thinking about it. That he’d been so distracted, so preoccupied with what was going on, he’d forgotten what was underneath his sleeve. Why he was wearing the hoodie in the first place. And it ripped Kay’s heart apart completely to see the expression on his face now, because of that simple fact. 

He’d  _forgotten_ it. 

For the first time in a long time, or maybe for the actual first time  _ever_ , he’d forgotten about the wound on his arm.

Now Jonathan was staring at it with blatant dismay. Openly horrified. Openly repulsed. 

For a second, the three were in a limbo of panic, too stunned to move or even say anything. A terrible silence existed. Cameron was staring at Jonathan with his mouth halfway open. Jonathan couldn’t rip his eyes away from the wound, freshly scarring over, and scarring over poorly. At the skin that was mutilated into that letter, sharp and deep and painful to see. She would have grimaced away from it too if she hadn’t been so stuck on Cameron’s face. She would have looked at the wound, stretching all the way from the inside of his elbow up towards his wrist, and she would have felt that same horror. The carving was heart-wrenching to see. But it wasn’t as heart-wrenching as he _looked_.

Cameron was struggling to collect himself. An already-difficult feat but even worse, with how much he’d had to drink. Jonathan beat him to the punch.  _“What is that!?”_  He was yelling. Cameron cringed. He blinked fast, and before he even really knew it, he was looking down at the injury himself. His breath caught in his throat, in a horrible and clenched gasp. Kay went rigid as she saw his eyes already flooding with water. His hands were starting to tremble. He’d avoided looking at the wound himself like it was a plague. Now it was staring him in the face. Possibly the first time. He couldn’t respond. It just made Jonathan worse. “Cameron!” he snapped, and Cameron jerked like he’d been smacked.  _“What is that!? What happened!?”_

“It’s...it’s...noth—” He was struggling to get a single thing out. He couldn’t.

Kay started to rush over, getting over the mental hurdle. “Jonathan,  _stop_!” Her voice was acidic. 

Jonathan jerked out and grabbed Cameron’s wrist, yanking his arm out straight so he could see the injury better. This was the  _worst_  thing he could possibly have chosen to do. The very instant Jonathan’s hand locked around his wrist, Cameron was stiffening. But the instant his arm was pulled, panic slammed into him like a freight train, and an involuntary scream immediately ripped itself out of his mouth. It was clenched and weak, but it was absolutely terrified at the same time. Like Jonathan was attacking him; like the very instant he touched him, his skin was on fire. Like he was the one who’d put that there.

Jonathan jerked in shock at the visceral reaction, too shocked to do anything. Kay had dropped her burden of paper towels on the way over, and when she reached him, she practically tore him off of Cameron. She was so angry, she actually managed the feat.  _“Get off of him!”_  she spat. By now Dina was running back in, winded and confused at the scene that met her. Kay struggled to keep herself between the two, and absolute rage choked her when Jonathan started to try and push her away to get back to him.

“Cameron, what is that!?” he demanded, anger and worry and guilt and everything in between making him rash; the alcohol wasn’t helping in any way. He was yelling too loud, he sounded too furious. Cameron looked sick— his breathing was sharpening and gasping, and he was curling back into himself again. Trying to hide from the questions, from the sharp reactions, but there was nowhere to go. Looking at him, Jonathan’s fury only mounted, making it worse. “What happened? Tell me what happened!  _Who did that to you!?”_

 _“Jonathan!”_ Kay snapped, all but shoving him back by the shoulders to try and keep him away.

 _“Nobody told me about that!”_  Jonathan yelled, and Kay stiffened even more. “Cam! Cam— who did that to you!?” 

Cameron didn’t react. His eyes were huge, but they were glassy and unfocused, like he was looking at something else. He was shaking more and more as he just stared blankly at his wrist, where Jonathan had grabbed him. He was hyperventilating, unresponsive to Dina as she leaned down in front of him and tried to get him to calm down, or at least breathe a little deeper. Kay scowled, practically hissing through her teeth at Jonathan. “Get out,” she growled. “Get out— I knew this was a bad idea— you have to leave.”

He didn’t even respond to her order. He just looked at her – really, actually looked at her – and asked: “Do you know who it was?” His voice was so tight with anger it was barely able to get out in the first place. It was like he was seeing red. Kay’s eyes stayed narrowed; he  _knew_  she didn‘t. She’d told him that already. But he went on, and she realized that he hadn’t asked it because he’d forgotten. Not at all. “Do you know who did this— did you even  _think_ about trying to figure it out— did you even  _care_ enough to get the son of a bitch?” 

Dina stood up from Cameron, stricken. “Jonathan!” Misery and severe disappoint were rife in her expression. She was trying to keep ahold of the night, trying to dig her heels in and tug it back to the way it had been, so perfect up to now. One little thing, and it was unraveling everywhere.

Kay locked her jaw back hard. She gritted her teeth so much that they ached. It took her a second to get her voice back, and when she did, she was so furious she could hardly be heard. “How... _dare_ you,” she spat. Jonathan’s glare only sharpened, but she matched it wholeheartedly. “How  _dare_ you accuse  _me_ of not caring for him. When  _you_ were the one that made this happen. When  _I_ was the one who got him out, who got him home, and who listened to him  _cry about how you weren’t coming back.”_

Her voice was shaking now; she wasn’t sure if it was because she was so enraged, or because she was trying not to cry. It was most likely a mixture of both. “I went along with tonight because he wanted me to— because  _everything I do is for him._  I didn’t think for  _one second_ you deserved  _any_ kind of forgiveness, and I  _still_ don’t. I  _never will_.” Jonathan’s anger was leaking away.  _Good._  ”How is it fair that you get to pretend it never happened and Cameron can never do the same thing? You can  _walk_ in here and  _bring up old stories_  and make it seem like nothing’s wrong, but it  _still_ doesn’t change the fact that  _you_ left him there on purpose. That you  _purposefully made sure I wouldn’t know to help him before it was too late.”_

She shook her head, derision and contempt thick in her voice and layered on her face. “You’re too late, Jonathan,” she emphasized. “And this— this isn’t helping. You have  _no_ idea how hard this is for him, because you haven’t  _been here._ You have no idea what to say, what _not to_ say.So now you need to leave.” He started to open his mouth but she didn’t want to hear it. “Cameron might let you back— that’s up to him— but right now, you need to leave. Call Gunter, call someone, I don’t care, just get out.” He didn’t know what to do when this happened; he was only going to make it worse. He’d triggered the entire thing by grabbing him. And she knew Cameron; she knew how upset he was going to be once this episode passed. How disappointed and ashamed of himself he’d be, and if Jonathan was still there, it would be ten times as worse. 

He stared at her dismally, saying nothing. Fixing him with one last loathing-filled glare, she started to turn. Only to jerk back and throw him one last withering scowl. “I lost my sister when I was little,” she growled. Jonathan looked from her, to Cameron. “Every day I miss her, and I would give  _anything_  to have her back. You tried to throw him away— and you have  _no_...idea how  _close_ you were to getting _exactly_  what you wanted.” She wanted to say more; she felt it build on her tongue. But she also felt the uselessness of it. And she could hear Cameron behind her, still panicking, so she only stared at him for a second longer. Then she turned and went back for him, crouching down to try and catch his gaze as she reached up and held his face gently.

She went through the motions she always needed to take. The ones she had memorized. She shook her head, whispering any kind of soothe she could think of. “Hey, Cameron...Cameron, it’s okay, it’s okay, you’re fine, you’re at home...you’re at home, Cameron.” Jonathan watched in horrified silence as she pried Cameron’s hand away from his arm. He’d been digging his nails hard into the sensitive skin of the wound, gouging into it subconsciously. It took a considerable amount of effort for her to do this, and once she did, she moved the hand instead to the table, to press it against its edge. ”Cameron, look, you can feel the table. Cameron— Cam, listen to me and try to think, I know it’s hard: there  _wasn’t a table there._ There wasn’t a table, but there’s one right here; you’re  _home_.”

Cameron cringed. He barely choked out a tiny: “...can’t...”

“You can breathe, Cameron, I promise— I  _promise.”_

Dina was staring at them sadly, but eventually she turned. When she looked at Jonathan she wasn’t angry like Kay was. She was just upset. That a night so familiar and fun could be ruined so easily. That she’d helped it to get this way, just because she was fooled into thinking things could be patched. Over dinner. Over games. Something as terrible as this. So, when she looked at Jonathan it was just in sorrow and regret. Jonathan hardly noticed. He was too busy staring at Kay, watching her hold Cameron and guide him out of whatever he was stuck in. How he was reaping comfort from her, moving to hold to her arms like she was a lifeline.

He used to look at  _him_ for comfort. Help. He used to...come to  _him._

Dina murmured that she would call a cab for him. That Kay was right— he should leave, for right now. Jonathan couldn’t argue. He was led away, his eyes never leaving Cameron. Kay’s back was to them; she wasn’t sparing any kind of thought of the other people in the room. She was just tracking Cameron’s gasps, listening to them even out and slow gradually. She watched his shoulders untense; not by much. She watched the fear and panic melt into exhaustion, like it always did whenever these acute onsets occurred. All the while she kept whispering softly, kept reassuring him there was nothing keeping him from breathing, kept holding his face and wiping away his tears. 

It took a while – she should have cut him off much sooner, that was her fault – but eventually he came back to himself. He separated himself into reality again and the light that flashed back to life in his eyes told her that he was back. Or, as back as he could be with how much he’d had to drink. She could tell in the look that came over his face. In the way he curled more inward, and the way he ducked his head. She tried to keep eye contact with him anyway, more than pained. “Cameron?” she murmured. He didn’t react, but now she knew he heard. “Cameron, it’s okay— let’s just go to bed, okay? It’s late.”

He cringed even more. He pulled away from her and held his head in his hands instead. He hunched over onto the table and buried his face away, like he couldn’t bear to even be looked at. He was absolutely silent. She felt like an elephant was sitting directly on her lungs. “...Cameron, I know—” 

“I want to be alone.” She hardly heard the tiny sob.

Kay closed her eyes. She tried to bite back on the pain his hollowness caused her. She hesitated, before: “Cameron, it’s not your fault, Jonathan shouldn’t have—” 

“I want to be alone...” he repeated weakly. His shoulders were shaking.

She looked at him, feeling empty. Her eyes stung. She started to whisper: ”Cameron, I want to  _help,_  I—”

“If you want to help, just  _leave me alone!”_ The last three words were practically screamed. They would have been, if not for the same reasons as always. She flinched. But this was only because he was upset. He wasn’t yelling at her, he was yelling at himself. She anticipated it happening...it didn’t make it any easier to swallow. But she tried. She stared down at her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling small and insignificant. 

She took in a slow breath. “I’ll wait for you,” she offered. She looked back up at him, straining to see his face. There wasn’t any use. “You don’t have to be alone, Cameron...” she pointed out. It fell on deaf ears. Or just unwilling ones. So, she just ducked her head and nodded. “Okay.” She stood up and gave him one last chance to change his mind. He kept his head down, though. For all it was worth, he could have fallen asleep; the trembling still remaining in his hands was enough to prove he wasn’t, though. “I’ll be right down the hall...if you need me, Cameron. Dina, too.” Still nothing.

Taking her time, and wanting to double back the entire way, she started to back out of the room. To give Cameron what he wanted. To find Dina, to make sure Jonathan left, to tell her that Cameron needed space. Maybe space would help. Maybe it was better for him not to be under such worried gazes— she knew how much it got to him, sometimes. And yet at the same time, she promised herself she wouldn’t close the bedroom door. She wouldn’t fall asleep— she would keep an ear out. She would make sure he was okay, and that if something sounded wrong or went wrong, she could rush out and to him quickly to help fix it.

The plans were already forming before she even got out of the room.

And some part of her hated herself for that.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

Cameron didn’t get out of bed the next day. Kay had left in the morning for work, and when she came back, he was in the exact same position. Still curled away under the covers like it was a protective layer from everything else. He didn’t want anything to eat, even though she tried to plead with him. He didn’t want to do anything at all. She gave up trying to worm out conversation, either. He was silent. She was worried he was shut down entirely, but when she got back into bed next to him she was relieved when he turned back into her. 

That was all he did, though. He didn’t wrap his arms around her, or say anything. She held him anyway, and quietly asked if he was okay. If he wanted to talk. He said nothing, and it was with a heavy heart that she just took to running her fingers through his hair, trying to offer him comfort in any way she could. Cameron didn’t even acknowledge the touch. She looked at him and realized with a pang that he was staring dully down at his arm which rested between them. He wasn’t wearing a long-sleeved shirt; it was the first time he hadn’t since he’d gotten home. The garish injury was fully revealed, and, laying on his side, Cameron wasn’t even blinking as he just studied it.

Before, he couldn’t even stomach the sight.

The look on his face was a dead one. Expressionless. She wondered how long he had been looking at his arm. If he’d looked at the wound all day, curled away from everything else. Kay had to control herself enough not to flinch at the realization it was probably exactly what had happened. She wanted to ask him if he was okay— break this horrible silence between them. But she knew he wouldn’t accept the effort. She swallowed hard and closed her eyes for a moment, before she leaned over and pressed a light kiss to his forehead.

At first, he didn’t react to this, either. But then his expression broke, and he cringed, like he was in physical pain. He spoke, and his voice was so defeated and ruined she almost wished he hadn’t. “I ruined it,” he cried, his words already thick with tears. She was rushing to object, but he wasn’t done. “I ruined the entire thing, we were  _happy_ , I was  _happy,_ and he was  _home,_ and I  _ruined_ it...”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Cameron. Okay? You couldn’t help it—”

“Because I’m so fucking pathetic,” he growled, and the resentment in his voice caught her off-guard. He glowered down at his arm as he said this, anger flooding his gaze. But it was too quick to leak away. To be replaced with the horrible sorrow again, bone-deep and raw. “I’m the problem,” he whimpered. “Everyone else can go back to normal—  _I’m_  the one that can’t;  _I’m_  the one that’s wrong.” He took in a sharp breath. “And I’m never going to get better, I’m always going to be ruining it— I blew it, and I’m going to keep blowing it...”

“Cameron, shh— it’ll get better. It’ll get easier, you just have to give it time to—” 

“I’m so  _sick_ of it!” he sobbed out suddenly, cutting her off at once. “I’m sick of  _one little thing_  just—  _ruining everything,_ it’s always— the stupidest things, because I can’t even do anything right, it— I’m  _sick_ of being this way, I’m  _sick_  of being stuck like this— I’m sick of doing it.” 

Her stomach fell. Her fingers stilled in his hair. She was quiet for a long moment, before she whispered: “Cameron...you—”

He pulled away from her. She took her arms back at once, to allow him to do whatever he wanted. But her heart was heavy and lodged hard in her throat when he turned over onto his other side. When he put his back to her and curled up even more. Still staring at his arm with that horrible expression that was so empty and yet so pained at the same time. Her mouth was dry as she stared at him and tried to come up with something to say. Her eyes burned. 

She couldn’t find the words. But she knew for a fact that even if she did, he wouldn’t want to hear them.

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

She woke up in the middle of the night. She didn’t know why. Her eyes just opened, and at first, simple habit almost got her to close them right away and go back to sleep before she got too awake. But something stopped her— the realization she was cold. She used to sleep alone every night before all of this, but now she had grown so accustomed to having Cameron right there with her, almost always not even an inch away. She was used to his body heat, she was used to his arms around her. Even when he’d pulled away, she could still feel him beside her. 

When she woke up, she realized it almost at once: there was no one in bed with her.

She blinked a couple times and started to sit up, but her suspicions were correct. Cameron’s spot was empty. The covers had been pulled away. She reached out to that half of the mattress, and she felt how cold it was. How long ago he must have slipped out. And immediately she was succumbing to the hovering anxiety that was always near. She was throwing off her own covers, turning and feeling her way out of the dark room into the hall. None of the other lights were on. She checked everywhere. Jonathan’s room, the living room, upstairs, downstairs. Calling out Cameron’s name every so often in a hushed whisper.

She walked into the kitchen and narrowed her eyes against the dark when something caught her eye. She found the light switch and flicked it on, her face falling when she did. There were bottles on the table. Empty ones. She walked over to check, but every one of them was drained. At first, she was livid, not only at Dina but at herself for not just throwing it all out in the first place. But she realized they were different bottles than what they’d stored away. Than what had been here before. And that the amount far exceeded what had been left over by the time the night with Jonathan had ended.

These were different. New. Someone had gone out and gotten them.

It just set her nerves off more. She turned and started for Dina’s room. She didn’t want to wake her up and worry her for nothing, but by this point it was better to do more than she needed to, than to do too little. Cameron’s words from before had bothered her. They were still ringing in the back of her mind, in his hollow, defeated tone. Seeing the mess in the kitchen her mental alarms were blaring; she was growing so worried; her hands were beginning to shake. Where  _was_ he? What was he doing? Had he gone out to get all that? How fast had he drank it? Why was he—?

She stopped short, freezing abruptly. She ducked her head and turned a little bit, but picked her head up fast once she heard the sound. She looked over towards the bathroom down the hall. The shower— she could hear the shower running. At first, she was tempted to sag with relief. There were worse things Cameron could be doing. It certainly wasn’t Dina in there this early in the morning. And it made sense. Unfortunately. It wasn’t unfounded that he was in there.

And yet she still hesitated, standing in the dark hall and looking at the light that was shining underneath the gap between the door and the ground. Something still felt wrong. Something still wasn’t sitting right. With the image of what had been in the kitchen in her mind, Kay scrounged up the resolve and walked the rest of the way there. She knocked on the door, staring at the ground and trying to listen out for what was on the other side. There wasn’t an answer, so she called out a little louder: “Cameron?” Still, nothing. Her forehead creased, and she looked back up. Knocked again. “Cameron, are you okay?”

There still wasn’t a reply.

She hesitated a moment more. But her heart was beginning to pick up. Her hands were still shaking. And they kept shaking, as she reached out and tried to the doorknob. It wasn’t locked. “Cameron, can I come in?” This time she wasn’t expecting a response, and it was with grim affirmation she still didn’t receive one. She threw restraint out the window and opened the door, letting herself inside. At first, she was confused, because she didn’t see anything. The shower was on, but the curtain was pulled back and nobody was actually standing in it. The mirror wasn’t fogged with steam; in fact, the entire room seemed colder than normal, almost.

“Cameron?” she asked, stepping inside slowly. The confusion on her face stayed and built, until she became aware of a tiny noise— so soft she wasn’t even able to hear it until she walked a few feet in. But once she did, she looked down, and her expression immediately changed. Her eyes stretched wide with horror and shock, and she staggered, a hand reaching up to clap over her mouth.  _“Cameron!”_  The cry was thick and terrified and confused and about a million other things. She had to overcome the initial blow of shock to even be able to do anything. To rush over and fall to her knees.

Cameron was on the floor of the bathtub, underneath the spray. Fully clothed. He was curled up into a tight ball, and he was shaking so much it almost looked like he was convulsing. The sounds she’d heard that had gotten her to look down in the first place were clenched, high-pitched whimpers that were involuntarily leaking out of a mouth that was tightly closed. Looking wildly from him to the showerhead, Kay stuck her hand into the stream and immediately jerked it back to herself. The water was freezing. The knob was turned as far right as it could possibly go. 

She jerked out and slammed the water off, going back to Cameron and struggling to realize what was going on. “Cameron!?” He didn’t react to her; he just kept shivering and whimpering horribly. “Cameron, what were you doing!? How long have you been—?” His lips had a bluish tint to them, and his teeth were chattering, but her eyes were caught on something else. He was bleeding. There was a cut on his forehead, like he’d fallen, or hit his head against something. “Cameron, what did you do!?” she demanded.

She turned, looking wildly for a towel. She yanked three out of the cabinet and returned quickly, draping them over him and quickly trying to bundle him up. He was freezing to the touch. She could feel how violent his shivers were. “Cameron— Cameron, you have to get out, we need to get you warm, I need to stop that bleeding.” Her expression cracked and her voice followed suit as she whispered desperately, mostly to herself: “What were you  _doing_!?”

He mumbled something. Too hoarse and too small to hear.

She stiffened at once, leaning down closer. “What?” she demanded. Feeling a stupid amount of relief at the fact he was actually aware enough to even try to talk.

“I’m stained,” he repeated tearfully, only the tiniest bit louder. 

Kay did a double-take, straightening a little as her eyes rounded out with sorrow. “You’re…?” She hesitated for a long moment, before she got her wits about her enough to speak. “You’re  _stained_ _?”_ she echoed. He just kept shivering, kept curling up tighter, like he was trying to conserve warmth he in no way had anymore. “No, you’re not, Cameron. You’re perfectly fine.” He didn’t answer her and she wilted. But she was quick to shake her head and lean down, grabbing ginger hold of his arm and starting to try and hoist him up. “Look, we need to get you out of here, okay?” She was fighting to keep her voice level. Not to show how panicked she actually was. He was loose when she started to tug him up. His expression bleary and far away. “We need to get you out of here, Cameron, we’re going to get you warm and it’s going to look better in the morning, you—” 

Cameron wrenched away from her. Despite how weak the movement was, it was enough. He fell back against the floor of the tub, flinching away from her. “I’m the— I’m—” His eyes cracked open and he looked down at himself, his clothes soaking wet and sticking to him. It was difficult to discern what he was saying with his words so slurred, but she managed regardless. “I’m  _stained_ ,” he mumbled miserably. Kay cringed in frustration, stomping down her sorrow and trying to stay firm, despite how much his voice was shaking. “I’m  _stained_ , I can’— get it off...” His breathing was punctured and sharp, from the cold water. He was heaving for air, gasping like he’d just run a marathon.

She watched as he moved his arms again, and looked at his right arm. He was crying. There was no telling how much were tears and how much was just water from the shower. He only cried more when he forced himself to look down at the wound on his forearm. He looked like he was liable to be sick. “No matter what I do I can’ get it off…no matter what I do ’m still— dirty,” he cried, his words gradually breaking down into sobs. “It’s still there, ’s still there…” He cried for a moment, Kay too caught off-guard to do anything for him. It was only when he moved and started wiping his other hand against the injury that she snapped out of it. If scrubbing at the freshly-healed carving wasn’t enough, he was using his left hand to do so. His sobbing only started to puncture and escalate, the pain on his face growing tenfold.

“Hey, hey, hey!” She reached down and grabbed his left arm to tear it away. He cringed when she did and tried to fight her, but she wasn’t leaving him the ability to. She  _had_ to get him out of here, and get him warm. And in the state he was in, she could easily overpower him. She just had to ignore the heartbreaking objections he was spouting. “C’mon, Cameron,” she said instead, fighting to keep her voice in check. “We’re going to bed. We’re going to get you out and we’re going to get you dry, and you’re going to go to bed. It’ll look better in the morning. Everything always looks better in the morning.”

“Stop! Let go!” She cringed and tried to block out his yelling, the way he was fighting, but she couldn’t. Eventually, she had no choice. “Let go!  _Stop it! Stop it, please!”_ She cringed when his yelling escalated into something way too close to terror, and yanked her arms back to herself. Cameron fell away from her and back down again. But he didn’t even cry out. He just curled up once more against the wet porcelain, ducking his head and covering it with his hands like it was some kind of emergency drill and he was just trying to take cover. And he fell completely silent, too…like he was hiding from something. Or someone.

Kay had to take a couple of deep breaths. Her voice was more strained when she forced herself to croak: “…Cameron,  _please_ …you’re drunk.” The last two words were empty. “You’re drunk and upset and  _tired_ , and your clothes are all wet, please just get out. Please. Aren’t you cold, Cameron? Cameron, you’re too cold, we need to get you warm. Please.  _…Please.”_ Her voice was breaking.

He ignored her. If he’d even understood or heard her in the first place. His mumbling was so soft and thick she almost couldn’t decipher it. But thankfully, he was a broken record, and he repeated himself when she leaned down towards him. “Pleas’ turn it back on,” he pleaded in nothing more than a whimper. Her face fell and her heart twisted. In the weight of the sorrow that slammed into her, she couldn’t even bring herself to breathe, let alone give him an answer. He only made it worse when he kept repeating himself, only growing more and more tearful the more he did. “Please— please turn it back on…please let me try…I only want to try, I just want to try…I just want the water back on…”

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

She managed to get him out. She managed to get him out and steer him back to his room. Ignoring the way he cried, the way he pleaded with her to let him try to wash his arm off, the way he sobbed that he was just trying to fix it, and  _why wouldn’t she let him fix it?_ To all this, she said absolutely nothing. She locked her jaw back against the pain she felt, and she just kept helping him walk. They got back to his room and she helped dry him off. He was soaking wet, his hair slicked down completely. He was still choking and whimpering involuntarily with every shiver, and all of that taken into account, he had to have been in there for way too long.

And again...she had come to get him far too late.

She got him into dry clothes. Feeling sick when she did because she saw his sides again, and how bruised they still were. She saw all the injuries that were normally covered at all times. She stomached it. She just soothed him quietly every so often, apologizing when he was in pain because of her. His head was pretty much done bleeding it seemed, by the time they got back, but she still cleaned it and put a gauze patch over the gash. She was worried it wouldn’t be enough. Something could be wrong...couldn’t it? “Did you fall into the shower?” she asked in a murmur, as she made sure the bandage was set fast to his skin.

Cameron’s lips hardly moved when he replied. “’s...just...tryin’ to...” He didn’t finish.

Kay was crying, but she was doing it silently. She helped him back up, reassuring him thickly that it was alright and he wouldn’t have to move again after this. She got him back into bed, and she fetched two more blankets to layer on top of him. She tucked him in as much as she could, trying to trap whatever body heat he had left. And, hesitantly, because she felt like she had to do something else, she slipped back into bed with him. She would tell Dina in the morning. And she would watch him, and make sure nothing bad happened. If it did, she would act. But for right now...there wasn’t much else to do.

She crawled into next to him and pulled him close to her. He was like ice. All the same, she steeled herself, knowing it would help him if she snuggled close. Cameron was lifeless in her arms. His eyes were closed and his breathing was finally beginning to even out. Hopefully that meant he was feeling warmer. Kay clung to him, her stomach twisting. Her voice was weak when she broke the earsplitting silence. “Why did you do that?” He didn’t reply to her croak. She sniffed. “Did you go out and get all that alcohol?”

This, he did answer. His voice was muffled against her shoulder. “Don’t...wanna feel,” he sighed.

Her lips trembled. Something inside her broke. She finally said it. The thing she’d been thinking this entire time, and was too afraid to say. Something she knew he would hate, she knew he would reject. But there was no avoiding it now— there was no denying that this was it. That this was rock bottom. Or...it  _wasn’t_ rock bottom. But it was the closest she was willing to let Cameron get. The closest they could get without serious harm taking place. Without something horrible happening. 

She got it out quietly. Barely, with how tearful it was. “You need help, Cameron,” she cried. Cameron didn’t react. She looked at him dismally. He looked asleep, but she knew he wasn’t. His expression was serene and relaxed because he had no other choice. Looking at him, she felt sick, remembering what he’d told her before. _‘_ _I mean— they only left because…I couldn't even flinch, I was…so gone, I…’_ Her lips shook even more. Her voice crumbled even more. “You need help— you need help I can’t give you.”

She waited for him to respond. Eventually he did, but it wasn’t what she wanted at all. His forehead creased for just a split moment, before he whispered in a tiny sigh: “I jus’...don’t wanna  _be_ here ‘nymore...” Simply, like it was common knowledge and he was reminding her of it. It snatched her breath away at once. It made her choke, and feel like this time she was the one that was suffocating. She pulled away and looked at him despairingly. He was oblivious. 

Her heart shattered into a million pieces. She was sure she’d never felt more pain than she did hearing him admit the fact. Her throat grew hot and tight, and her breathing sharpened as her eyesight blurred through a sheen of water. Her lips shook as she started running her fingers through his hair again. “But...I love you,” she whispered desperately. 

Cameron only sighed, exhaling slowly and a little heavier than normal. He said nothing. And she realized a few minutes later that he had finally fallen asleep against her. The only sound was his soft and deep breathing. And the echo of her confession bouncing back off the walls to hurt her full-force. 

(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)(~**~)

She was holding his hand. Sitting close beside him so that her head could lean down on his shoulder. She felt how stiff he was, and how nervous; every so often she would lean more into him and stroke her thumb soothingly across his skin. Neither of them spoke because there was no use in it. He couldn’t keep track of a conversation. He was too preoccupied; his eyes would flicker elsewhere, he would shake his head like he was trying to jar something out of it. But the silence just made everything stretch on longer. 

Cameron and Kay had been sitting there for ages. He shifted again, and she frowned, trying to break the quiet again. She’d attempted the feat quite a few times before and none of them had taken. She wasn’t sure this one would be very different, but she might as well try. “Are you okay?” she murmured. Cameron looked back at her, and the expression on his face seemed to be reply enough. He looked pained, and tense, like he was on the brink of panicking. He shifted again, underneath her concerned stare. He just looked away. Her heart twisted.

“I’m proud of you,” she said softly. Cameron sighed and hunched his shoulders. She sat up more so she could meet his gaze. “I  _am_ ,” she insisted. He only offered her a curt nod. It looked like he almost said something, but thought better of it. She wondered if it was just the lighting of the room that made his eyes seem shinier than normal, or whether it was because he was upset. “You’re helping yourself. That’s all this is. This could fix so many things…I  _hope_ it fixes so many things. And the second it doesn’t help, or the second it gets worse, you can always change your mind. You can  _always_ stop.”

“Yeah. I guess,” he mumbled. 

She weakened. “Hey.” He turned to her, but only reluctantly. She smiled at him, trying to be as encouraging as possible. She reached up with her free hand to caress his cheek. He let out a slow breath when she did, and she softened as she moved to draw her fingers through his hair. She nodded. “It’ll be okay,” she pledged. Cameron’s eyes searched her own, like he was skeptical. “Everything will be fine. I promise.”

He smiled, but it was a sad kind of smile. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He’d said it about seven different ways now, for about seven different things. Each one hurt her to listen to. “I’m sorry I’m...” She held his hand even tighter and kept running her fingers through his hair, noticing that bit by bit he was relaxing more and more. Not in great amounts, and not very quickly, but he was relaxing. It was something.

“Don’t be,” she returned. “It’s all going to be fine.  _We’re_ going to be fine. And no matter what happens, I will stay...right here. I will care about you just as much.” Cameron seemed unlikely to believe the sentiment, which she’d unfortunately expected. He looked a little pained, and like he wasn’t sure what his response should be. But thankfully enough, he only had a few seconds to hesitate. The door opened, and the both of them roused. Kay kept hold of his hand but took back her other one. Cameron’s face fell, and she felt him go rigid again. Despite the vibe that was coming off of the two, the doctor gave them a bright smile.

“Hello Mister Black,” she greeted warmly. Cameron winced and fidgeted again. Her own nametag declared herself to be Doctor Mary Cravens. She had brown hair that was pulled back neatly, and bright blue eyes. Like she had barrels of energy, despite the fact it was near the end of the work day. “I was surprised to see your name— I’ve seen your specials. My son just  _loves_ them; he says he wants to be a magician one day like you.” Cameron tried to give her a smile. Kay could see the pain it took to drag his lips up to fit the gesture. “Oh, but you’ll have to excuse me— I bet you get that all the time! It’s probably awfully annoying!”

“It’s fine,” he offered, his voice soft. Kay ran her thumb back and forth across the top of his hand. 

Doctor Craven’s smile lost the smallest touch of its fervor. She nodded and looked down at her clipboard. Kay could see the papers that Cameron had had to fill out in the waiting room. She’d sat apart from him to allow him the space to do so. But she was guilty of having watched out of the corner of her eye, and she was guilty of seeing him circle practically the entire sheet of symptoms. She could see the pen marks now, and it brought an ache to her heart. She could list them off herself, though. Insomnia, anxiety, panic attacks, tremors, mania, flashbacks, anorexia…it was a long and ugly list. “How long have you been experiencing these symptoms, Mister Black?”

 _“Cameron.”_  The correction was said a little too loud and a little too fast. She looked up quickly, but Cameron was already regretting it and wincing. “Cameron…is fine,” he amended awkwardly. She gave him a smile to show that there was no harm, and he took in a slow breath. He looked down at his lap, finding it easier. “Uh…two weeks? Two and a half? My days are…kind of messed up, I…”

“It’ll be four weeks tomorrow,” Kay interjected. Cameron wilted. 

The woman kept her smile. “Four weeks,” she repeated. She shot him a kinder look. “I’m very sorry you’ve had to deal with all of these for that long. Hopefully we can get something for you that’ll make it easier. Now, you…” She hesitated and her eyes glanced over to Kay. She seemed a tad flustered but asked regardless. “I’m sorry— are you…I don’t think I remember reading that you were married,” she aimed to Cameron. 

“I’m not.”

“Oh…well, I assume you’re comfortable with discussing this with her in the room?” she prompted.

Cameron hesitated again, and Kay began to straighten. But eventually he landed on a small: “Yes.” 

The doctor nodded. “Alright.” She took a deep breath and looked back down at the clipboard and picked up her question from before. “You marked that you have or have had thoughts about harming yourself…is that correct?” Cameron closed his eyes. Kay had to bite down on her pain to keep her expression unfazed. After a long pause, he gave a curt nod. “Alright.” Her voice stayed just as even. “Are you  _positive_  that in the time it takes for a prescription to go through to your pharmacy that you won’t do anything rash? Or would you perhaps prefer inpatient care until—?”

“No.” Again, this was said very loudly. Very quickly. He checked himself and mumbled softer: “I’m fine.” 

Cravens seemed to consider this and size him up for a moment. Her eyes flickered to Kay, and their locked hands, and she seemed to draw her own conclusion on his safety. “Alright,” she conceded, bringing her smile back once more. “Good. Now. Given the symptoms you listed, and the acuteness of their onset, I suggest we just talk a little bit more about your situation before we start coming up with ideas for medication, if that is something you want.” Cameron’s eyes were dragged to the side. He turned and looked out the window, his stare heavy. It had started to snow. He could see Christmas lights. His chest started to ache, as he wondered what he would be doing right now if things had just been different. Would he be drinking hot chocolate with Dina? Would he be making a gingerbread house with Jordan and ignoring Gunter when he told them they were both overgrown kids? Would he be decorating the entire Archive, crowding it with so many decorations Gunter would whine that it looked like they lived in a Hallmark? 

Would he be  _happy?_

Cravens kept on, her voice much too light for the words she was saying. “If you’d like to explain your situation a little bit more...your onset was awfully acute, but severe. Was there...a change in your life? A new source of stress?” He kept staring out the window. “Maybe you could tell me when the last time you were  _truly_ happy was. Or...explain what it feels like when you have these symptoms. Are you...up at night because you’re not tired? Because you’re thinking about something?” He swallowed hard. “When you feel anxiety, does it kind of cloud everything else out? Do you feel a pressure on your chest?”

He wasn’t listening. He tuned her out. He didn’t even focus on Kay’s hand in his anymore. He was just staring outside, his heart in his throat and his eyes beginning to sting. Mary slowly started to trail off, just studying him once she realized he was absent from the conversation. Her concern only mounted with every passing second Cameron stared off into space. Kay weakened and reached out to put an arm around his shoulders and draw him a little closer to her. “Hey,” she murmured softly, trying to urge him to look at her. He didn’t, but she kept trying anyway. “Cameron, it’s okay,” she whispered. His eyes welled up even more. “Everything’s fine, Cameron. You need to stay here.”

He just kept looking outside.

“Mister—” Mary quickly corrected herself. “Cameron? Are you alright?” 

He was mute and unresponsive. 

Wondering why in the world she was asking him that question.

When he was the very last person who would know the answer. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's five am it might be cool to sleep for once. 
> 
> Rationale is almost done! After this chapter there is one more chapter and then one more surprise after that chapter! It is so bittersweet, I've really liked writing this story so I'm sad to see it come to a close. However, given that it is so close and given that I had it all planned out already, please forgive me if I end up finishing this story before going back to Irreversible; school makes it so so difficult to find time to write, and it's just easier to write for a story I have already finished in my head in comparison to a story that needs working on. I hope that's alright! I haven't forgotten about it though!  
> I hope you like this chapter! I tried my best to make it as good as I could, and I tried my best to clear out typos as well, though I always miss a few so I apologize in advance. And if you liked this chapter I'd love to hear from you! Thank your for reading! <3

"I was just...upset. I wasn't thinking. I...went out...not far, I didn't really...leave the house for too long, but I went to some...obscure, corner store. I got a bunch of alcohol. Took it home, I...drank all of it. And...I guess at some point I just...got confused. I went to the bathroom, I...started to try and turn the water on, but when I did, I think...I fell. And when I fell I hit my head, and...accidentally turned it so the water was all the way cold. I...don't remember why I didn't get up. I think…I think it was because it was so cold, I couldn't...breathe around it, so…I just…" Cameron trailed away, staring off to the side. Until he shifted uncomfortably and took a sharper inhale. "Kay found me, I kind of remember her...yelling. And…" He paused again, before he shrugged with a tiny grimace. "I...must have said…some things, but...I don't really remember after that."

There was a long stretch of silence, once he came to the end of the story. He was still refusing to look forward. He could feel the stare on him, though, and he could sense the expectancy that was in the quiet. Just refusing to acknowledge it wasn't really helping, or changing anything. But it was his first impulse. He was gripping his knees tight, digging his fingernails down as he kept fidgeting and shifting his legs every so often. Eventually, the silence was broken. Her voice was quiet. But for all Cameron's reaction, she might as well have yelled. "Why are you telling me this?"

He felt a flash of frustration. He closed his eyes sighed, but he just sat up straighter and cleared his throat. "You asked me why I was here," he reminded, his voice barbed. "...That's why I'm here." He glanced at her, and saw she was frowning. He looked to the clock on the wall instead, hating the time that stared back at him. It felt like it had been  _hours,_ how had it only been ten minutes? "Kay wanted me to come," he grumbled, his own stance on the matter clear in the tone of his voice. "So here I am." He almost wanted to add a snarky 'Ta-da' to the end of it, but he didn't. There wasn't a point.

The therapist was quiet still, picking up on every tiny detail of discomfort. She offered a smile that he didn't see. "You didn't want to do this?" she asked. Cameron let out a slow sigh, moving and holding the side of his head as he stared down at the ground. She sat forward a little more. "Therapy has a stigma, these days," she admitted. "People think it's a sign of weakness to need someone to talk to. But it really does wonders; it would help _anyone_ , if they just stopped and gave it a chance." Cameron didn't reply. Her eyebrows drew together. "But I think some part of you realizes you need this too. Otherwise why would you be here?"

"Because Kay wanted me to be," Cameron repeated, his voice stiff.

"But you were free to say no. If you  _really_ didn't want to be here, you wouldn't have come."

"I couldn't say  _no_ ," Cameron growled, glaring now into the corner of the room.

"Of course you could have. You're free to make your own decisions about things. This included."

"Yeah, well, over the past, like  _month,_  I've come to realize I'm just a _fun_  person to _force_  to do things they don't want to," he snapped. The words were icy and hostile, and she didn't speak up right after they were through. They hung in the air uncomfortably. Cameron shook his head for about the millionth time since he'd sat down. And again...it had only been around ten minutes. "I  _didn't_  want to come. But I can't say no to Kay."

"Why not?" she prompted. He hated how no matter  _what_  he said, she had a question. He could tell her the sky was blue, and she would ask why he thought so. Or why it wasn't purple. Or what it looked like when it was raining, or something just as stupid and pointless. The sky was  _blue,_ it was  _always_ blue, and it was going to  _stay_ blue, so  _why bother asking at all?_

"Because," he huffed.

She crossed her legs and looked at him meaningfully. "Cameron...I'm sure I don't have to explain this to you, but...we're not going to get much out of these sessions if you don't want to talk."

"I just don't see the point in it," he grumbled.

"Don't see the point of what?"

"Of... _talking,_ I just…" He rubbed at his forehead and exhaled too sharply. "There's not a  _point_  to it. There's no point in…talking about any of it to anyone, there's no point dragging it up."

"Why not?" Her voice was so even, so controlled, and it was  _pissing_  him off.

"It won't change anything, it'll just make it worse. It's just…" His exhale was just as sharp.

"Talking about issues is the only way we can _address_  issues, especially with other people. It's the only way we can...begin to understand others, and get them to understand us. Or get  _ourselves_ to understand us." She smiled kindly. Cameron still wasn't looking at her, though. She pursed her lips and glanced down at her pen and paper, writing a note. The scratch of her pencil was blaringly loud. "Cameron...keeping details to yourself can oftentimes be just as detrimental as...keeping secrets or lying. The weight of it builds and stacks on you, and it makes you feel lonely, and isolated. Do you feel lonely?" He didn't reply, but he fidgeted. "If you  _do_  feel lonely...why not talk?"

"I want everything to go back to the way it was…telling people anything would ruin that."

"How so?"

"It'll…" He sighed. "...It'll be the only thing people think of when they look at me."

"You think if you told people about what happened to you that would be all they would associate with you? They wouldn't see you, they would just see what you described?" Cameron's throat was hot, but he managed a small nod. She tilted her head to the side. "I'm sure if they cared about your well-being, you wouldn't change, in their eyes. Don't you think you mean more to them than that?" He said nothing. She prompted further: "Kay...she cares a lot about you, if she wanted you to come here." He gripped his knees even tighter. Her eyes flickered to them as she noticed the detail. "Do you think if you talked to her, and if you opened up to her, you would lose the value she obviously holds for you?"

Cameron's lips pressed tightly together. His eyes were flickering all over the room. To the clock, to the corner, to the bookshelf, to the empty chair by him, to the table, but never to her. He wanted cards. He wanted to _leave_. It had only been thirteen minutes. Fourteen. Every  _second_  was a tiny eternity. He rubbed at his forehead and shifted in the chair, knowing that all the moving wouldn't make a single difference. "I—" He exhaled, and moved his head awkwardly, like he was trying to stretch his neck. It fell out of his mouth before he could really think about it. "I just don't want to do it," he blustered.

"How come?"

He was going to scream. "Because I don't  _want_ to." She started to open her mouth to ask something more, when he interrupted her, rushing on to add before she could: "I don't want to risk it."

This was the wrong thing, as the choice of words caused her to frown. "What do you mean 'risk it?'"

Cameron was staring off to the side, zeroing in on the far-right corner of the room, now. He didn't reply at first, but now she was apparently deciding she would give him all the time in the world to figure it out.  _Now_ she decided not to interrupt him. Fantastic. He tried to wait her out. Like…a game of Therapy Chicken. Keeping silent and just waiting for her to break and speak first, and ultimately change topics. But it seemed like she knew that game and wasn't all that willing to play it. The silence just stretched.

He shifted and rubbed at his forehead again. It hurt— the gash left from the shower was healing up, but he was still plagued by a headache, and the pain wasn't helped with the motion. He guessed that's what he got for being stupid enough to just trip into the tub. He wasn't really thinking that one through. "I don't…" He sighed quickly and dropped his arm again. She was watching him like a hawk, picking up on all these signs of distress, surely, but deciding she wasn't going to help him out. Which was great— the one time he actually wanted her to bring something up and  _now_ she was shutting up.

"I don't…have a lot of people." It fell out. Before he even really realized what it was. The words came out sounding hollow, but once they came out, he was left  _feeling_  even hollower. His face fell, and his shoulders slackened. She frowned but said nothing, still leaving him the floor. His throat was already starting to feel hot. He tried to cough, to cover it up. "I don't have a lot of people," he repeated dully, unable to really look at her now that it was out in the open. "And…I can't…risk…losing anything else. Especially her."

She regarded him closely. "What makes Kay different?"

Cameron kept looking away, rubbing his arms with an uncomfortable wince. He opened his mouth a couple times, like he was going to answer, but the right words couldn't seem to build their way up and out. He didn't know what to say. Because there  _weren't_ words. Not really. He couldn't think of any that would properly explain the feeling he got when it came to her. The overwhelming, overpowering sense of gratitude bogged down with deep regret and guilt. The warm feeling in his chest, with the cold pit in his stomach that he knew he wasn't good enough for her. The happiness he had her with him, and the sorrow that it had taken so long, and _this_  was where they were when it finally did happen.

There weren't words to describe what all she did for him— what all she  _gave._ Practically everything was thanks to her. If he tried to make a list, there wouldn't be enough paper in the world to use. He didn't deserve her; that wasn't even a question. She should have left him so many times. But she hadn't. She stayed through the days Cameron hadn't said a single word and just stared hollowly off into space, sharing in the silence because she knew he wanted it. She stayed every night with him, and, even when he would go four nights in a row waking up screaming, she was always just as patient with him; always just as soothing. She'd spend hours at a time with him talking, just so he could have something else to think about, even if she had work the next day. All these things he'd forced her to do because he was such a mess, and she'd never batted an eye. She stayed. And she  _continued_ to stay. With him.  _For_ him. For some reason so stupid he wasn't even sure what it was.

But he was grateful. He had no idea what he would do if she wasn't here.

No— that's not true…he  _did_ know.

He  _wouldn't_ be here. He was almost a hundred percent positive. Ninety-nine-point-nine percent.

He had no idea what would have happened if she hadn't walked into the prison that day and realized it was him. He had no idea where he would be right now if he didn't have her. He didn't want to. Even if he had somehow gotten home regardless, it still wouldn't matter. He wouldn't have made it through all this; he would have thrown in the towel, he would have snapped. The reason he was here – and he wasn't even right, still – was because she'd gotten him there. Somehow, he'd crawled to more than a month later, and most of the reason he'd managed the feat was because whenever he got too weak to, Kay never hesitated before she dragged him along until he could get the strength to do it himself again.

It was a miracle he'd gotten to this point. He wasn't even all the way  _okay,_ and it was a miracle.

 _Kay_ was his miracle.

So…to ask what makes her  _different?_

He'd lost track of time, staring off to the side and just feeling his throat get hotter and hotter. His vision blurred just the tiniest bit. The therapist was silent, allowing him the time to think. Eventually he sucked in a sharp breath and shook his head, tucking more into himself. He pressed his back against the chair. "I can't," he managed, and his words were flatter this time, and harder. A subtle kind of warning. He shook his head again, stuck in the repetitive motion. "I can't talk to her. About that."

"You don't have to tell people what  _happened_  to you," she broached. Cameron fought the urge to roll his eyes. He had a feeling she wouldn't take it well, and it'd add about thirty more minutes to this lecture. "But being more open about what you feel will help lessen the isolation you said you were feeling. Don't you think Kay would be the perfect person to try? If she wanted you to be here, obviously she wants you to get to a better place mentally." He said nothing. "And at the very least, that's what a therapist is for. Someone you can speak to and know they'll still hold an objective opinion of you. You could talk to me." He refused to look at her. This conversation was stupid. Her eyes flashed before she murmured: "Alright…let's move on, then."  _Thank God._  "You said you didn't have a lot of people, for support. Why do you say that?"  _Shit._

"Because I  _don't_."

"How come?"

 _How come you can't just_ take an answer? "They had to leave. I was too big a mess."

"I'm sure that wasn't the reason."

"It was  _literally_  the reason."

She wilted. "Then it must be difficult for you. To handle all this and also handle the loss of friends." He wondered what would happen if he grabbed the can of pencils on the table and threw it against the wall. "It's understandable you're hesitant to lose any more. But you should know that if they've stayed up until this point, it's unlikely they would leave you now." The only things keeping him from  _finding out_ what would happen were his own morals. The moral about knowing you can't throw cans of pencils. "Everyone always needs a support group— it doesn't matter what they're doing. But especially in times like these you need a tightly-knit group around you that you have full faith in." It wouldn't be hard, and it wouldn't take long, he'd just reach over and chuck it. "That trust and reliability is the most important part. It's something stable you can have, and you can trust." Maybe if he did that, he'd get kicked out. Would it be that offensive?

He realized she was staring at him. "What?" he blurted out, stupidly.

She repeated herself. "Who do you have to support you?"

He hesitated. Then proposed a little lamely: "Dina and Kay."

"That's it?"

He stared at her. He shifted uncomfortably. Before: "Yeah."

Her eyebrows pulled together. "Nobody else that would be willing to help you?" He shifted even more. "Nobody…that you could confide in? Nobody that wants you to be okay?" He said nothing. But it was clear he couldn't quite look at her. She sat a little more forward in her chair. "Nobody that's reached out to you? Nobody that's offered their help?"

Ages seemed to pass in absolute silence. Cameron kept staring off to the side, fidgeting and squirming in his chair like he was trying to find the spot that  _wasn't_  made out of needles. His throat got hotter, his vision smeared even more. He took his time in answering, and when he eventually did, his voice was nothing more than a tiny croak. It barely got out in the first place. "…No," he murmured.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was tense…waiting. Now that he was through speaking, there was only silence, and it was absolutely deafening. But it wasn't like  _he_  could say anything. Now he had to wait…so that was what he was doing. He just stared at Kay, wary and pained. On-edge; wanting her response desperately, but at the same time dreading it and hoping it would never come. The weight of what all he'd said was in the air. He didn't even really know  _what_ all he'd said. When the words had fallen from his mouth, he hadn't even been registering them. He'd just felt them on his tongue. He'd felt his lips and his jaw move, but he hadn't known what words they'd made. He hadn't actually heard any of it.

But  _she_  had.

She was staring at him without any kind of expression on her face. Somehow, the blankness of it all was worse than if she had been glaring at him. She wasn't even blinking; her lips were pressed together so tightly they were just a thin line. She'd been staring at him this entire time, but now her eyes flickered pointedly down to the table. The moment she tore her gaze away, he was tensing even more. His shoulders hunched, his face fell. The silence was getting too long. He didn't have a choice anymore. "…That's…all," he rasped, the words coming out hollow.

Still, she said nothing. Her face didn't change. She didn't look up.

She didn't look  _at_ him.

He weakened further. His voice was nothing more than a whisper. "…Kay…?" She looked off to the side. He cringed. His throat was getting thicker and thicker— in effect, so was his voice. "Are you okay?" From the outside looking in, it was strange that he was the one asking  _her_ this question. Wanting to know if  _she_ was alright. But he could see it on her face: everything she was thinking. Everything he knew would be there, if he told her. Now that it was there, his thoughts were wild, running a mile a minute.  _Why did I do this, why did I think this would be okay, why now, what am I going to do, why isn't she looking at me, what if she thinking, what's going to happen, what—?_ "Kay?" he murmured again, when she still kept silent.

She let out a slow breath. Just reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear.

He searched her face. Every last unwilling inch of it. It was making him sick. The realization was slipping out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I shouldn't have told you," he whispered. She shifted in her chair. The uncomfortable motion was a glaring sign. They all were, and they were painting a horrible picture. "I shouldn't have told you," he repeated, louder. "I shouldn't have told you— I didn't  _want_  to tell you."

Silence. He was drowning in it.

"Say  _something_ ," he implored.

"I don't know what you want me to say," she replied. Her voice was stiff.

He grimaced. For a moment he was quiet. When he picked his voice back up again, it was weaker and quieter. Hesitant, like he knew that what he had to say wouldn't be good enough anyway. "Say…that it doesn't matter…" She glanced at him, but her eyes were quick to flicker away not a second after. His shoulders sagged. Still, he tried. "Say that you don't care, that— say that you still…" He paused for a moment, before he broke in a sudden pull of desperation. "Please look at me." She refused. He felt like he was suffocating. He asked a little louder, only because he was getting more and more overwhelmed. "Kay,  _please_." He was starting to cry. He knew he shouldn't, and he was trying to stop himself, but he was anyway. "Kay, please look at me."

"I can't." The two words were flat.

Cameron shrank backwards, like he'd been slapped. He cringed hard. Shame was burning like fire right underneath his skin. But he couldn't fight her. He  _knew_ he couldn't, he just… "I'm sorry," he whispered. Again, saying something that was so innately strange. Apologizing for telling a story he hadn't been in charge of writing. Like it was his fault. But maybe it was. At the very least, it was his fault for telling her. He knew he shouldn't have. Why had he decided to finally? What had prompted him in the first place to let it spill? He couldn't even remember. Right now, all he felt was the panic at Kay's growing rejection. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have— I shouldn't have told you, forget I said anything. Please— can you please just forget I said anything?" He was getting desperate. Pathetic. Somehow more so than usual.

Kay closed her eyes briefly. Cameron stiffened as she suddenly pushed away from the table and stood. "I have to go."

"Where?" he asked. She paused, standing still. Hesitating, and not answering. He asked again. "Where are you going?"

"I can't stay here."

"Kay, wait! I just thought it would help, I thought if I—  _please_!" She'd started to turn anyway, but when she did, he leapt up to his feet himself, his voice escalating into a yell. The volume was loud in his rashness, and he cringed when he realized it, but at the same time, it was enough to make her stop again. "I'm sorry, Kay!" he pressed. The look in her eyes was much too irritated. Frustrated. Disgusted. There was disgust now, when she looked at him. Like he  _knew_  there would be. "Please, I— I'm sorry," he choked. His shoulders curled inward, like he was in pain. "I'm sorry, I— just— please don't. Don't do this. Don't…leave." The last word was hollow. Empty.

Her disgust mounted at the open desperation. He knew he was pathetic. But he also knew he couldn't stop himself, at this point. "Please don't leave me," he begged, and by now his voice was in pieces. He fought to take in a more controlled breath, but the effort didn't do much. "You're…you're one of the only things I have left." Her eyes flashed, her expression pulled, and he cringed again. "And I know I'm not— and you're— but— but I'm just—" He couldn't get himself to work. His shoulders started to shake, and his lips began to tremble. "Please don't leave me," he croaked. "Not now. You're one of the only people I have left."

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. It was ages, before she stated quietly: "I can't be with someone like you."

His breath hitched. It caught in his throat, and stayed there. His lips shook more. "I…" He choked back a swallow. "I  _know_ , I just…" He didn't have a good comeback. He only looked at her despairingly, feeling his chest constrict like something was wrapping hard around it. "But you're the only thing that…" She looked away again. Like she couldn't stomach the sight of him. He started to take a couple of steps closer. He swallowed hard. "Please don't leave me," he ended, horribly pathetic. "Please stay."

"I don't want to." Each word was slow. Purposeful. Horrifying.

He held back a burst of sobs, biting down hard on them and waiting out the surge until he could speak safely. Even then, his words were so thick they were hard to understand. "Please stay with me," he cried. "I know I'm not good enough for you, I know I'm— but please stay. Please don't go." He hesitated and choked a little bit before he managed weakly: "I  _need_  you."

There was a ghost of a grimace on her face, remaining there simply because she was sickened at the sight of him. Usually she always looked so soft when she looked at him. She always smiled— her eyes were always gentle, and lit up, like she was having the time of her life even though they were just sitting together on the couch. Now, that was all gone. Now that he'd told her, her eyes were cold and hard. Her lips were pulled back into something much too close to a scowl.

She looked at him like he was worthless. Because now he'd finally given her the proof to know it for a fact.

Her next words were cutting. "Why in the  _world_ would I  _ever_ want you?"

She might as well have stabbed him. His lips shook even more. He couldn't say anything. He could only stare at her in horror, and yet she didn't have any plans at all in holding his gaze. After she asked this and apparently received the response she was looking to get, Kay was turning and walking away. Cameron watched her make for the door— watched her leave him behind, like he'd expected this entire time. Yes, he'd expected it, and he'd waited for it, but now that it was here, he was reeling. He was going to be sick. He was losing everything— she was taking everything with her!

He watched her go, his breath quickening in rhythm and speed. His arms wrapped around his stomach, like he was trying to hold himself together. When the door slammed closed, and the sound of it echoed, his knees slowly buckled, and he slid down to the floor. He brought his legs up to his chest and curled close into himself, only hyperventilating more. He looked down at the floor, his eyes wide as he tried to wrap his mind around what just happened. Around the fact that Kay had left him so quickly, just like he knew she would. Just like he _knew_  he she would— why had he said anything? Why hadn't he kept his mouth shut?

He felt empty— he was empty, now. What was he going to do? What was he  _supposed_ to do? All he had was Kay— Kay and Dina. He didn't  _have_  anybody else. And Kay had been— she'd been— he'd— but it was pointless now, because he wasn't worth it, and she knew that now, she knew what happened and she didn't want him because of it. And he couldn't even fight her, because he knew it would happen, and he knew she deserved better. He just didn't think it would feel like this when she finally realized it herself. He just hadn't thought of what would happen to him when she did.

He cried harder, his shoulders shaking and his hands trembling. The sound of his sobs seemed to echo off the walls and go right back to him. They were hitting his eardrums, painfully loud. Hitching sounds— sharper breaths in between each one. Or…or it wasn't crying, it was laughing. He was hearing laughter. Once he realized it, his sobs stuttered into shocked silence. He still stayed curled up close to himself, but he looked up and realized it was darker than before. The room was getting smaller— the laughter was getting louder. His shock and confusion slowly began to melt into fear, and his expression started to crumble as he realized what was happening. He curled back up again, closing his eyes tightly and shaking his head, like that would help anything. But the laughter only got louder— the room only got darker, and tinier. He felt something— he felt someone touching him, they were grabbing him, forcing him out of the defensive position, and they were saying something, they were trying to get his attention, they were—

"Cameron?" His eyes snapped open as he jerked awake, a sharp and choked gasp already halfway down his throat when he did. He felt someone too close, he felt a hand on his face, and his first instinct was to lock up in terror and shove them off. He almost did— he jerked, halfway just out of a spasm of shock, halfway because he was a second away from lashing out. But that second was what he needed to quickly gather himself together and put the pieces where they belonged.

The hand on his face was gentle, its thumb tracing soothing lines back and forth across his cheek. The proximity wasn't unwanted; it wasn't too close. And even though it was dark in the room, when he looked up, clearing his vision which had already been blurry with tears even before he opened them, he could see Kay. Not the Kay that had been in his dream— this was the Kay he knew. Her expression was soft and concerned. Injured, like seeing him in pain was enough to give her an equivalent feeling. She'd been silent up to now, allowing Cameron the haphazard, horrified moment it always took him to actually separate his dreams from reality. She only spoke again when she saw that he was beginning to unscramble everything. Even when she did, her voice was overly soft. "Are you okay?"

He looked from himself to her, like he was trying to figure out the connection. His breathing was beginning to stutter back into a more normal rhythm. He reached up and rubbed at his face, wiping his eyes when he did as well, and hoping the motion wasn't too noticeable. "I'm…" He took in a deep breath, trying to make it slow so that hopefully it would calm some of his nerves. But it was a pretty uphill battle. He let his arms fall back down between them. He looked at her, and a wash of sorrow gripped his heart. So strong and unexpected that it took his breath away. He choked, closing his eyes and ducking his head down more into the pillow. It took him a second to move on. To get the image of her appalled glare out of his mind. Until he could eventually mutter: "Bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Kay whispered.

He cringed. He opened his eyes again, but kept them trained on the sheets. His stomach was clenching, like he was sick. He was being ridiculous. It had been a bad dream. That was it. Kay was right here, she was less than two inches away, and yet his hands were still shaking with the fear that she wouldn't be if he blinked, or took his eyes away from her for more than a handful of seconds. "It's…" He hesitated. It was on the tip of his tongue. But… "No," he rasped. "I don't." He hesitated before he mumbled: "It's…stupid."

"It's not stupid," Kay rejected at once. He looked at her reluctantly, and once again it provided him with far too much relief. The familiar way she was looking at him, so earnestly. She kept running her fingers through his hair. The rhythmic, gentle touch was taking his nerves and stomping them down so quickly he wasn't even realizing it. He didn't even realize it when he leaned more into her touch. Subconsciously struggling to get as much comfort from her as he could. "Not if it bothers you," she pressed. A brief period of silence passed, Cameron just staring at her, before she offered him a reassuring smile. "You don't have to say anything if you don't want to. My…mom just used to tell me that talking about nightmares kept them away longer."

"Did it work?"

She hesitated, before she relented: "Not always."

Cameron studied her face for a moment, unsure. With a tiny inhale, he curled forward a little more, hiding his face as he pressed it more against her neck. She met the effort by wrapping her arms around him, encompassing him in a feeling of security. She let him think, not rushing him at all. His chest tore at her patience, at her undisguised devotion. She was too good for him. She was  _way_ too good for him. He didn't deserve her at all, with everything he put her through, and everything she had to deal with. It was so  _much_ and yet here she still was: awake at three in the morning, hugging him close and soothing him after being woken up by him for the millionth time.

She  _deserved_ to reject him. She deserved to leave him.

"Why do you stay?" he rasped eventually, the words barely making it out.

She took the question well. She didn't even hesitate before she replied: "Because you ask me to. And because I want to." Cameron's face fell. She paused briefly, before she added a little quieter: "And…because…every second that I'm not with you…I want to be."

The words made his chest tear all over again. His eyes started to prickle, and he closed them, hoping the water would reabsorb somehow. He had to wait out the pain that the sentiment threw on him. He had to breathe through it, and focus on Kay's touch, still light through his hair. It felt like a rock was weighing down in his stomach. Like there was a pressure on his chest. "You could find someone else," he whispered. Her fingers stilled for just a moment. He screwed his eyes shut even tighter. "Someone better…"

This, she sat with for a longer period of time. The silence was ear-shattering. Eventually she shifted, moving so that she could rest his head down more on top of his. Her hold increased just a fraction. "I don't think so." Cameron let out a shaky breath. She turned to bury her nose into his hair, still just the smallest bit damp from the shower. In doing so, her lips brushed his forehead lightly. Her voice grew quieter as she murmured against his skin: "They wouldn't be you."

Again, came that pain. Agonizing, but warm and comforting at the same time. He didn't know what to do with it. One half of him was overjoyed. Grateful, relieved, and everything in between to have her and to have her this way, still. The other half was anything but. It knew she deserved more, that he wasn't even able to hold a candle to her. That he deserved to be alone and he was dragging her down. So the two emotions were brewing and knotting in the very pit of his stomach and he could hardly breathe against it. He wanted to reach out and hug tightly to her, but he couldn't get his arms to move. Not yet.

He forced the explanation out before he could debate over it anymore. He hated how pathetically small his voice came out to be. "You left." She pulled back, so she could look at him, but he couldn't bear to face the expression she might be wearing. He closed his eyes again once he realized, and he kept them that way. Like closing them would make something different, or make something easier, when history had already proven otherwise. His voice was choked when he forced himself to elaborate. Though each word tasted horrible on his tongue, and his eyes grew hotter and hotter. His voice thicker and thicker. "I...told you...and you left." It wasn't the best in terms of explanation. But at the same time, it was all that was needed. "You said you didn't want me."

This spurred on a silence that was much longer. Much tenser. Cameron cringed against it as it stretched, and he was already kicking himself for caving in the first place. He was so pathetic— like a kid that couldn't go five seconds without their mom right by their side to hold their hand. He was a leech. That was all he was. Refusing to let go of Kay and continuing to get needier and needier, never letting up. Demanding more and never stopping. He had been bad, this entire time, but this was just making things worse. Making him even weaker. Even more pitiful.

"I would never do that, Cameron," Kay murmured eventually. His eyes opened, glassy and bright with tears, but he still couldn't look at her. Kay's hand went back down against his cheek, to rest there comfortingly. "Cameron…look at me," she pleaded softly. He hesitated, and some part of him was inclined to refuse. But he couldn't. So he caved and forced himself to comply. Her expression was horribly sad, like he'd worried. But there was also a large amount of affection, cushioning the blow. She shook her head. "It is up to you whether or not you want to tell me anything. Ever," she murmured. "But if you ever did, Cameron, it wouldn't change a single thing.  _Nothing_ would be different. I would still care about you. I would never  _dream_ of leaving you."

Her voice practically shook with the sincerity it held. Cameron's throat was thick as he listened. "And I  _definitely_ wouldn't leave you because of something like that. I already almost lost you once," she whispered. "That was terrifying enough. I don't plan on actually seeing it through." There was a tiny beat of silence, before her expression broke in a tiny sense of amusement. She smiled, and shook her head. "I'm afraid you're pretty stuck with me, Cameron Black," she announced.

A smile teased at the far corner of his mouth. But the sorrow and acute pain on his face remained, despite the tiny lighten. He realized a tear had fallen only because Kay wiped it away tenderly. Kindly, because she was always kind. Always there. If two months ago he had been promised the reward of a million dollars and ten years of guessing, he would have been able to even come close to fathoming the way their relationship would have been right now. He wouldn't have ever guessed a lot of things, really. Because it was all a mess.

But she made it less of one. If only marginally.

He weakened, and finally got the nerve to reach out and hold her. Immediately, she fit against him and melted there. She let out a contented sigh, and that tiny smile was back to build itself up on his face. He couldn't hold it back. Quietly, he whispered into the dark: "You make me happy."

She beamed; he could feel her smile, rather than see it. And he could hear it in every syllable of her response. A response that she was quick to give, and would continue to do so, because it would need repetition in order for it to cement fully in his mind. In order for the doubt it would instill to go away. "You make me happy, too."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He listened and waited, hoping desperately for it to be different this time around.

But it wasn't.

He was met with the same voicemail. The same sound of his brother's voice the way it had used to be— too-bright and too-happy, peppily demanding that you call again because he was much too busy to answer the phone. Jonathan had the recording memorized by now, and even though he'd been anticipating it, the moment he was forced to listen to it again, he was cringing away and lowering the phone. He hung up before Cameron could even get to the fifth word. And he let the device drop uselessly to the desk as he hung his head. Closing his eyes tightly and pressing the heels of his hands into his forehead.

"Still nothing?"

Jonathan hesitated for a long time, just staring down at the desk. Eventually he mumbled a hollow: "Still nothing."

Gunter's eyes narrowed. His jaw set back. "How much do you want to bet he doesn't even have his phone?" he demanded. Jonathan just sat back, his expression still desolate. Gunter kept sweeping on. "She's probably  _keeping it from him._ That's why he hasn't been answering." Jonathan closed his eyes again, saying nothing. This apparently prompted Gunter to continue. "Cameron would  _never_  ignore you like this— if it wasn't for her, everything would be fine." Jonathan's expression started to weaken. "I can see her now… _encouraging_ him to shut everyone else out like he's some kind of—"

"She's not forcing him to do anything," Jonathan objected hollowly. His voice was so low it was difficult to hear him.

Gunter did a double-take. It took a few stuttering seconds until he could reply. "Of course she is!" he snapped. "Do you think Cameron would ever  _dream_ of doing anything like this!? If it wasn't for her whispering in his ear, we'd probably all be back at home right now, like nothing happened!" Jonathan's stomach jolted. His eyes narrowed.  _'How is it fair that you get to pretend it never happened and Cameron can never do the same thing?'_ "Cameron would  _never_ ignore you! He'd never keep you from getting home!"

Jonathan stayed mute. His shoulders were curling inward more and more.

"Ever since this whole thing started, Kay's acted like she owns him! Like she knows what's best for him!" Jonathan's eyes were beginning to sting as Gunter continued. "She hasn't even known him for a  _fraction_ of the time we have! She has no idea about anything, but she's been making sure that he thinks she's the only one he's got! She's making absolutely sure you don't get to see Cameron at all! Like she has any control over that! Like she knows him more, like she has any idea that—"

Jonathan shoved himself up to his feet, whirling around on Gunter so unexpectedly that he snapped his mouth closed at once. "That's the  _point!"_ he all but screamed. Gunter jerked at the yell, his eyes flying wide, but Jonathan wasn't even really seeing him. All he saw was red, basically. "That's the  _point!"_ he repeated. "She  _doesn't_ know! She  _doesn't!_ She has  _no_  idea what it's like to care about Cameron! She can't even  _begin_ to understand!" He was doing his best not to break down. To lean into anger instead, so that everything else could be staved off. It's what he usually did.

"He was all I had!" he snapped. Wisely, Gunter was staying silent, allowing him the floor. Or maybe he was simply too shocked to interrupt. "For  _years_ , he was the only person I had! He was the only person I cared about, because he was the only person that cared about  _me!_ No matter what it was he was always there for me, and I  _forgot that!"_ He paused for a moment, breathing fast and hard. He glared daggers at Gunter. "Do you  _get that!?"_ he demanded. "I  _forgot._ I thought about  _myself,_ I let… _some—_ convince me that he wasn't worth it! I let her goad me into leaving him—  _leaving him! I left him! Me!"_

"She tricked you, she—"

" _It doesn't matter, Gunter!"_ he yelled. "It  _doesn't!_ I was  _stupid!_ She told me she did me a favor— that she  _'freed me'_ from my life and that's why I should go with her— but  _she didn't know I existed!_ She didn't give a shit about me because she didn't  _know_ me! She was just trying to get Cameron arrested, it had  _nothing_ to do with me. At  _all!_ She just made me think it did! And maybe some part of me knew that— maybe I knew going in and I was just trying to get something from her too, but I  _shouldn't have!_ I  _left_ Cameron there!" His voice broke on this fact. Gunter's face fell. "I  _left him!_ And he was trying to break me out— he was trying to make things right, and I left him!

"He was all I had for my entire life— he knows every detail about me and I know every detail about him, but I  _left_ him there! And he still  _trusted me to come back_ ; and _I didn't!"_ By now, he was biting down on sobs. His lips shook as he glared at his friend with enough rage to melt him on the spot. "I didn't come get him!" he spat. "And he stayed there and it was because of me! It was because of  _me_ he—" He closed his eyes hard and shook his head. He looked close to being sick. "I did it!" he choked. Gunter was trying to object, but he wasn't listening. "I did it to him! I didn't do it, but I did it to him! I'm the reason it happened!  _I'm_  why he was there! He's always been the most important person in my life, and I was stupid enough to forget that! To get hung up on…something that wasn't his fault, that he didn't ask for, that he was trying to  _fix!_ She did this to us, but I went with her anyway! I chose her over Cameron!"

He shook his head again. "So  _no!_ Kay has  _no_ idea what it's like to love Cameron; she has no  _fucking idea!_ But  _I_ do! And that makes it even  _worse!_ That I love him, that I care about him, and I still left him!" His voice was too thick now to disguise. He was losing the battle and quickly giving up even trying. "I used to know everything about him! Now I don't know how he got those injuries! I don't know how to help him, I don't even know if he's okay! I don't know if my brother is okay— if he's  _ever_ going to be okay!

"So  _shut up, Gunter!"_ he snapped, his friend doing yet another double-take. "Stop making it seem like this isn't my fault! Stop blaming Kay when she didn't have  _nearly_  as big a hand in this! When she was the one that was there for him when I wasn't! Stop making it seem like she's in the wrong when she's just trying to keep him safe like I didn't! And _stop_ making Cameron seem like the bad guy when he doesn't want to talk to the  _reason he was raped!"_

Gunter was shell-shocked, just staring at him blankly, his mouth halfway open. Jonathan held his gaze for just a couple of seconds, his expression a horrible twist of sorrow and anger. Before he just shook his head again and stormed off for the bathroom. Gunter tried to call him back, but he wasn't listening. He just walked faster and slammed the door behind him as hard as he could. He hit his back against it and slid down to the floor, holding his head in his hands and drawing his legs up close to his chest. Trying to make himself as small as possible, as if he could hide from the mess he'd made.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _You have to get up."_

Cameron didn't do anything. He couldn't. He  _wished_  he could. He wished he could shove himself up to his feet, he wished he could take off running and sprint as far away from here as was physically possible, and even further beyond that, even. He wished he could curl up into so small a ball he was impossible to be seen or noticed, because maybe then everything would cease to matter. He wished he could reach over and press down hard against the gaping wound in his arm, to stop the bleeding or to just rake his nails down against it and get it to stop itching. He wished he could scream— and not just from the pain, but from everything else, too. His throat was already ruined and already putting him in agony, but he wanted to scream anyway. He wanted to scream and gasp and cry and curse and hit something or hit  _himself._

He wanted to do so many things. But none of them could actually be made into actual movement.

Cameron could only stare blankly through half-lidded eyes. Pinned down to the ground by horrible gut-wrenching pain, only managing weak, gasping inhales every so often that did nothing for the burning in his lungs. He might have been crying. He didn't really know. He felt every tiny little pressure point of pain, and yet at the same time he felt nothing at all. He felt like the room was spinning, but everything was perfectly still. He felt like he wasn't breathing enough, like he was breathing too fast. And he wanted to move – he wanted to leave, he wanted to run, he wanted to do something he wanted to do  _something_ – but he couldn't. And yet.

" _You have to get up."_  Cameron closed his eyes in a bleary cringe. He tried to follow the directions, unthinkingly at this point. He struggled to comply, and move as if to sit. But he couldn't even do that. The very instant he even attempted to shift his right arm, he was slammed with a wave of pain so great he could have been fooled into thinking that he was being cut into all over again. He immediately had to stop and go limp again, a horrible sound halfway between a choke and a sob dying on his tongue. Still, the voice wasn't letting up.  _"You_  have _to get up."_

Cameron flinched again. Weakly, he could only manage out a half-audible choke of: "…c'n't…"

" _Yes you_  can _, Cam. Come on. Get up."_  He forced his eyes to open again – still only managing halfway – to see Jonathan a few feet away, sitting there comfortably, like he'd been there the entire time. He looked fuzzy and warped— everything did. It looked fuzzy and it felt fuzzy, but Cameron swore he could see his brother, see that familiar expectant look on his face. Calm and collected, despite everything.  _"Get up, Cam,"_  he pressed, when Cameron still didn't try.  _"You can't stay here. If you stay here, you're gonna die."_

Cameron's eyes closed again. Mostly because it was hell to just keep them open. He said nothing, but his expression broke a little with the threat. Or not the threat— the  _temptation_  that it brought with it. The fact that just the thought of falling unconscious and not having to wake up again – not having to feel this pain, not having to address  _why_  it was there – was so instantly relieving. His shoulders shook weakly, and agony once again clutched at his throat as weak sobs clawed their way out, raking their way up his trachea in order to do so. They couldn't even be heard; his throat was so mangled. But the pain was enough to prove they were there, at least to him.

Jonathan must have gotten the message – he always got the message, they always knew what the other was thinking or feeling, or he'd thought so, he'd thought he'd known his brother, he'd thought his brother loved him but he didn't he didn't he hated him and he was never going to see him again he was never going to see Jonathan again even after all this he wanted to see him again but he wasn't – because he went on.  _"This isn't how you die, Cam. You have to get out of here. It'll hurt, but you know you have to."_

The inhale Cameron managed was punctured and shaking. His lips hardly moved with the objection he gave. The objection he would have snapped back, or yelled back, had he had the ability to. Now, it was just a rasp. A choked cry that didn't even reach the level of a whisper. But the pain that was in every syllable – physical and mental – helped make it a bit more noticeable. "Y'u…l'ft…"His expression crumbled; he shook even more. It made everything hurt more. "'u…l…ef—" He couldn't manage it. He couldn't do it. It hurt too much. He couldn't breathe— why could he  _still_ not breathe?

" _I'd never leave you,"_  Jonathan argued, and there was something different about his voice when he said this. Cameron pried his eyes open all over again. Jonathan was smiling at him – beaming at him – but it wasn't Jonathan. Not the Jonathan that had glowered at him, that had snapped at him that he didn't believe him, that had knocked him out cold. No. This Jonathan was smaller, younger, with an expression so earnest and heartfelt that it certainly couldn't have been faked – was it faked, back then, was it all fake, which part of it had been real, when had he stopped smiling at him like that, when had the artificiality started? – or anything less than a hundred percent genuine.

It was the Jonathan he'd hugged, he'd laughed with, he'd bugged, he'd confided in, because he was the only person he'd really truly had. It was the Jonathan that had taught him how to play Poker, that had grinned and reassured him that he was doing just fine and not to listen to their dad because he had no idea what he was talking about. It was the Jonathan that had told him, a couple of rare times, that he loved him. It was the Jonathan that Cameron  _thought_ he'd still had, all the way up until the point the words had escaped his lips: "I don't want to escape with  _you_."

" _I'd_ never _leave you,"_  Jonathan pledged again, meeting Cameron's blank and disoriented stare with his brilliant smile. "Where else would I  _go?_ We're a package deal. You just gotta get up. I'll be right here with you; I can help you." Cameron's weak breathing spiked in the tiniest way. It would have been more, but this was all he could manage. He crumbled again, shaking with every sob that couldn't make its way out of his throat in  _actual_ sobs. They were just small squeaks— sounding and  _feeling_ like nails on a chalkboard.  _"You can do it, Cam."_

He tried. He started to try and curl his legs up towards his chest. He didn't even get farther than a twitch. The pain was too much; it ripped through his entire body and snatched his air away. He didn't even have time to scream before the little shift caused his consciousness to fall away completely. The dark shadows of the closet rushed forward to blacken his vision and he relaxed against his will. His face cleared, his crying died. He didn't know how long he was out. When he came back to, everything was even fuzzier. Everything was spinning more; he was being dragged down even more. He wanted to throw up – he felt like he  _needed to_ – but he was too weak…and he didn't want to see what would come back up.

His vision was fuzzier. The shadows were getting too thick, and they were bleeding into the rest of the world. Bleeding just like his arm— just as profusely. But through the shadows – somewhere in there…right? – he could still see Jonathan, and he could still see his comforting smile. He was laying down only a couple feet away, on his side so he could face him.  _"_ Please, _Cameron,"_  he pleaded. _"You have to get out of this. I need you."_

Cameron cringed, sobbing. Sobbing because they were the same words Jonathan had yelled at him when he was stuck in that trap and struggling to get out. Because it was just as dark, here. Because he was just as scared. Because he was just as unable to get his way free. Because he needed Jonathan to hug him like he did then. Because he couldn't tell the difference between reality and unconsciousness anymore, because he couldn't even really register anything anymore. It was getting fuzzier all over again. His breathing was getting faster, still in too-shallow depths. The pain was getting less oppressive because he was losing sensation. Because he was dying.

" _Cameron? Can you hear me?"_

He tried to say something but there wasn't a point. He kept crying, paradoxically relaxing with every choke. He  _couldn't_ get up. He  _wanted_ to. He imagined it. And he imagined Jonathan rushing over and pulling him tight, squeezing him so hard that he couldn't breathe, but it was a good kind of not being able to breathe. He tried to comfort himself by thinking of how it would feel, imagining those arms around him and imagining him clinging just as tightly back. He imagined getting everything out that he couldn't right now— all his screaming, all the sobbing, all muffled into his brother's shoulder.

He imagined Jonathan just holding him tighter against it, shaking his head and whispering:  _"It's okay. You did it. You're not trying to do that anymore."_

It wasn't the best place for his mind to wander to. But it wasn't anywhere  _close_ to the worst place he could go. And it was one he frequently ended up getting back to as it was. Whenever Cameron was alone, when it was dark, when he was watching his cellphone buzz itself out with yet another call from his brother that he couldn't bring himself to answer. He didn't even know whether or not it was a  _valid_  memory, even. Everything about that night, after a certain point, wasn't clear, wasn't defined. The details were kind of scattered; it was like he was sitting down in front of a puzzle without having a picture to look off of. He kind of knew what it was just by looking at the pieces, and he put the ones together that made sense, related the most to each other.

He didn't sit down to do so too often. He didn't want to know. He'd rather just put his arm down on the table and shove all the pieces off. He'd rather not even have the challenge in the first place.

He wasn't alone, at least. He just couldn't sleep. He must have fallen asleep at  _some_ point. One second, he'd been talking to Kay, trying to explain something to her that must not have been all that important because he couldn't remember it. The next, he was just laying here, staring off into the dark and waiting out the night because he knew there wasn't a chance of him getting back to sleep. Not with Kay fast asleep beside him. She'd moved during the night; her arms weren't laced around him like they were before. He was still on his side towards her, but she'd turned to be on her back. Still, her left arm stayed out a little bit, and her hand brushed his.

She'd moved, but not far.

Cameron tried to drag his mind back to himself, and away from the memory. He tried to focus more on Kay. On her breathing— soft and relaxed. On their hands, and the outlines they made together in the dark. Nowadays it was difficult to focus. His mind was constantly dragged back to something, or getting stuck on something. Having Kay there made it easier…it kept him rooted…or at least rooted  _more_. But as the hours went by it got more difficult. He got stuck on worries, on thoughts, on frustrations. Quiet tends to make it impossible for you not to overthink things. Add the darkness into that, and you were pretty much screwed.

He thought of his dream about Kay, still bothering him in the back of his mind. He thought about how she'd reassured him, but how even still, there was the tiniest shadow of doubt and worry when it came to her. He remembered how lonely he felt when Kay had gone to work yesterday, and Dina had gone out to the store, leaving him the only person in the entire home. How alone he'd been. He remembered how just the thought of having Kay leave was enough to send him into a heart attack. He recalled how guilty he was to constantly need her, but on how useless a guilt it was, because he couldn't seem to help it any.

He remembered what the therapist had asked him, about whether or not he had anyone else that would be there for him. He'd said no.

'Nobody that wants you to be okay?'

He remembered Jonathan's frequent calling. He remembered how choked his voice had sounded on the other line. He remembered how happy he'd been that night before Cameron had been so careless as to take his sweatshirt off.

' _And Cam, I can't...tell you how sorry I am. I'm really sorry. About the...whole thing. I really am. I'm the worst brother. For...doing what I did, and I want to make it up to you. I do. And I don't care what it takes, I don't care how long it takes me, I wanna make it up to you somehow. I wanna to do whatever I can.'_

He took in a deep breath and let it out just as slowly. He shifted closer to Kay and closed his eyes, trying to wipe his mind of everything else other than her. It took a rather long stretch of time, but he eventually started to manage it, little by little. His breathing slowed to match hers, and he began to relax. In fact, he was almost falling asleep when her alarm went off. The volume was turned way down; Kay had done so in the hopes she would never wake him up. And sometimes she managed it. But Cameron was still a little awake, and he felt her pull away. He opened his eyes again a little blearily to see her already sitting up and shutting off the irritating jingle.

She turned, and her eyes caught on him. Guilt crowded her expression. "Did I wake you up?" she whispered.

He hummed under his breath. "I was already up. Mostly."

She didn't seem all that comforted. He could feel her worry spike just a little. But with this worry, she offered him a tiny smile. "Then try to go back to sleep." Neither of them was speaking above a whisper. "I can get you melatonin before I go," she offered. Cameron didn't reply. She accepted it as an answer and just softened. "Okay. Well. I hope you can get some more sleep at some point. But…I've got to go." And her voice was tinged with regret when she said this. She hesitated for a second, before she leaned down and brushed her fingers through his hair, planting a kiss on his forehead. Cameron smiled, affection hot in his chest. Her own grin was adoring when she withdrew. She lingered, carding her fingers through his hair a few more times before she whispered: "I'll see you tonight."

He watched as she turned and started to stand, but before she could actually leave the room, he was sitting up. "Wait, I—" She turned, frowning. He blanched, like he wasn't even sure he'd been about to ask. But after a second, he started to stumble through it. "I…just— maybe…" Kay's frown worsened. She turned, waiting. He fidgeted and put his hands under the blankets, not sure why they were shaking, not sure why his chest felt so tight. "Maybe…maybe I could…come."

She straightened, looking shocked. It must have taken her a second to wrap her head around what he meant, because it was a while before she replied. She sounded floored. "You…you want to come with me? To work?" A smile was worming over her face.

Another pause. Before: "Yeah. I…I mean, it…might be…nice. As long as…"

Her smile grew. Before she blinked a couple times, and it faded more uncertainly. His did too. "Today…today probably wouldn't…be good." Cameron deflated. "Tomorrow would be better. It's…just…today is last minute, it's…tomorrow would…" He said nothing, and her worry came back to stack on top of itself. "Is that okay?"

He just stared at her. She stared back, biting down on her lower lip. He said nothing for a while, but neither did she. The silence was tense, and uncomfortable. Before he cleared his throat and shook his head. "Yeah, no, that's fine." Kay didn't seem so sure. He rushed on, trying to stay dismissive. "It'd be better, you…can tell Deakins that way, and I can…make sure that…yeah," he ended weakly. "It's fine. Tomorrow."

"It's just—"

"No, it's fine, it's— don't worry about it. It's fine."

Kay looked regretful. She shook her head. "Cameron, if you want to come, you can, it's stupid, I— I don't want you to—"

"I won't," he reassured. "You're fine. You go."

Kay still stood in the doorway. Cameron thought she was going to try and argue more. But she didn't. She just walked back to him, and leaned down to kiss his cheek. His smile was smaller with this one. "I'm really glad, Cameron," she murmured. "It hasn't been the same without you." He just nodded. "Try to get some more sleep," she ordered again. "I'll get back here early, I promise."

"Okay."

She gave him one last tender, regretful smile. Before she turned and left the room. Cameron watched her go, his chest feeling hollower and hollower with every step he listened to her take. Until he couldn't hear her anymore. She'd come back in a couple more times; to get her clothes, to ultimately come back and get her keys because she always forgot them. But Cameron just laid down, turning and curling up on his other side. Frowning as he stared at the dark corner of the room and tried not to wonder why she hadn't wanted him to come today. Maybe they were in the middle of something. Maybe she had to tell Deakins that he was coming in. She had to see if she'd even  _need_ him for something in the first place. That was probably it.

He tried not to wonder whether it was something else. He tried not to wonder whether it was because she wasn't ready to be seen with him again yet. He tried not to wonder whether it was because she was going to try and get a bunch of things done, because she knew with him there, he would just drag her down. He tried not to imagine her going to every single person she could today, pulling them aside and telling them all about how they had to be careful tomorrow because the smallest thing could set him off and ruin everything…just making sure everyone knew how sensitive and pathetic he was.

He shifted and pulled the blankets up more over his head. Feeling that horrible loneliness come back. Trying not to get ahead of himself, and wonder why Kay didn't want him, telling himself that of  _course_ she still wanted him, and  _no_ she would never leave him— she'd just kissed him, she'd just promised to get home early. Trying not to be horribly frustrated that he was so quick to unwind because she was gone. Trying to fight the urge to turn on the bedside table lamp because suddenly it was too dark in here.

Trying to ignore the fact that the last time he had worried over Kay, Jonathan had been the person he'd called for help.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _Dina!"_

The instant she heard the yell, she was dropping everything and sprinting. _Literally,_ she was dropping everything. She'd been trying to reorganize one of the shelves and get rid of some of the clutter – this place had the horrible habit of just conjuring clutter out of midair – and she'd had about four things in her arms when she'd heard Cameron's cry. She didn't even hesitate to figure out whether or not any of it would break if she did— she just dropped each and every one of them. She whirled around and staggered a moment before she found her footing. And once she did, she started sprinting in the direction she'd heard him from.

" _Dina!"_ He sounded shocked. Alarmed. What was wrong? What had happened!?

She burst into his room, practically kicking the door down. Her eyes were huge and scared as she looked at him, and she was already trying to remember all the things that Kay did for him whenever he was panicking, or in pain. Not that she didn't know, but her efforts never seemed to be as good as Kay's somehow. She was flying through the list, all the recommendations that Kay would give her every now and then because of something new she'd read— and she was constantly reading, or googling, whenever Cameron's back was turned.

 _Give him something to hold, if you can find anything he'd recognize. If he's not bad yet, hug him as tight as you possibly can; it's supposed to calm you down— but_ whatever you do,don't _do that if he's already gone. Try and get his attention enough so that he can hear questions…ask him if he can do simple addition or subtraction; it'll get him thinking about something else. Repeat something over and over again— something about him being home still, or about how everything is okay; sometimes it takes a long time, but it'll eventually get through. Don't grab his wrists at_ all.  _Make sure he's breathing._

She was flying through that mental list, already looking Cameron up and down haphazardly to try and see what the issue was. To try and see whether or not he was okay, or starting to not be, or just out of some kind of episode. But when Dina burst in, his head snapped up, and she stared at him dumbly as he positively beamed. "Dina,  _listen!"_  he pleaded, and it was then that she realized the alarm she'd thought she'd heard in his voice was really just an odd type of excitement. Still, she was frozen in her panicked position halfway through the door. And she kept the look on her face as he stuck out his left hand and snapped.

She blinked, looking from him to his hand, still stricken. Cameron's expression was the equivalent of someone having just found a hundred dollars lying on the ground. He waited for Dina's reaction, and when she didn't offer one, he snapped again, smiling wider. "I can  _snap!"_  He sounded absolutely elated. And he  _was_ — there was no bitterness at all; he was truly over the moon. He snapped again, as if to prove it, or maybe he was just too excited and wanted to keep hearing it. Wanted to keep actually using his left hand again. He'd been using it more and more, but always with the aid of his right. He hadn't tried to pick anything up with only his left, yet. This was the first attempt at solo use. Apparently, it was a successful one.

Dina kept staring at him open-mouthed.

Cameron puffed up almost indignantly. " _Dina!_ You're not  _giving this the proper respect!"_

"Is that why you were yelling!?" Dina demanded. " _That's_  why I ran all the way over here!?"

"Well, nobody  _made_ you run, you did that by yourself," Cameron flashed back. "You're so—  _look, I can— what the hell!?"_

Dina had rushed forward to smack his shoulder. Lightly, so it wouldn't cause harm, and in a place where she knew he didn't have any lingering injuries. But she smacked him all the same, and she  _kept_  smacking him, refusing to let up. Cameron squeaked, flailing in shock at the barrage and trying to bat her off. The two of them ended up just kind of pointlessly slapping at each other.  _"You scared me!"_ Dina snapped with every blow. Cameron was laughing, so she gave herself permission to keep hitting him.  _"You can't just do that, Cameron, I almost fell three times running over here!"_

"I wanted to let you  _know!"_ he shrieked, managing to swat her off.

She scowled, blowing out her cheeks as she glared at him. "You almost gave me a conniption!"

"Joke's on you— I have  _no_ idea what that is." Her glower tripled in rage. Cameron stared at her blankly for a couple of seconds; neither of them moved. Until he reached out and snapped at her again. Which led her to smack his shoulder again. He grinned even wider and laughed, shoving her arm away. Her chest absolutely tore at the look on his face. He looked so genuinely happy. Stifling giggles. Lit up, more like he used to always be. He looked like his old self. So much so that she could almost be fooled into thinking they were two months in the past. Maybe even a whole year, and nothing at all was wrong.

She smacked him, keeping her glare as she looked at his hand. "Does it hurt?" she demanded, still sounding furious.

Cameron let his arm swing down. "Not a lot," he smiled.

"Well  _good,"_ she snapped, still sounding livid. "I'm  _glad!"_ She looked him up and down for a heartbeat, before she smacked his shoulder again, earning yet another indignant squeak from him. "Don't  _do_ that again!  _Okay!?"_

He was rubbing his shoulder, still smiling just a little bit. "Fine," he said, very simply.

She stayed there a couple more seconds, just glowering at him. A glare which he met with a smile that was almost cheeky. Before, still glaring, she stomped over and yanked him into a hug. He was surprised at first, stiffening, and for a split second she thought she'd made a mistake. But after the tiny lapse, he hugged her back. And the angry façade melted off her immediately, and her frown turned into a watery smile. A smile that only grew when Cameron hugged her tighter and laughed again. Like there was a punchline to this. Like there was a hidden joke she wasn't getting.

Or maybe he was just laughing because he was like her. Simply so, incredibly relieved.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron glanced at Kay for about the millionth time. The look on her face was rubbing him the wrong way— making his heart beat unreasonably fast. There was a frown worrying the very edges of her lips. There was a certain kind of apprehension in her eyes that had been there the entire drive over. She hadn't said much, either. The silence that had existed was far too uncomfortable. But they'd made it there and Kay shut off the car, to get out. Before she did, it was bursting out of his mouth. "I don't have to go in." She stopped short, looking at him oddly. Still with that weird, tense look on her face. He hesitated, before he murmured weakly: "Dina can…come get me, I ca get a cab, I don't…have to go in with you."

She wilted. "Do you not want to come anymore?" she asked.

"No, it's— it's not  _that,_ I…" He looked out the window, to the building, then back at her. "I…don't want to…I'm not sure…" He looked at her warily. Last night she'd come home happy like usual. She'd told him she was glad he wanted to come with her into work today— yet from the moment she'd gotten up this morning she'd been tenser. Probably realizing the gravity of what this actually meant, and probably regretting that she'd made a promise so quickly to bring him. She probably didn't want him here, and that was why she'd rejected him in the first place. The only reason she changed her mind was because she didn't want to upset him. It was out of pity. "I don't have to come with you, if I'll…get in the way— if you don't want me to…"

Her eyes widened at once. She was rushing to cut him off even before he could finish. "Cameron, no! No, of  _course_ I want you with me. I've missed you. I'm just not sure that—" She hesitated, making that weird face again. Cameron pulled his sleeves down self-consciously, even though there were already at his wrists. "Just come inside with me," she pleaded eventually. She put a hand on one of his, and he wilted as she tried to catch his eyes. "Come in with me, Cameron. Come on." He still wasn't sure. Still eyeing her, already guilty over a failure that hadn't even happened yet. But eventually he caved and gave a tiny nod. She smiled – nervously, why was she nervous? – and mimicked it. She turned to get out of the car and he followed suit.

The entire way in, and Cameron walked a little closer to her than normal. He hadn't really felt any anxiety before now, but every step they took, now it seemed to multiply on itself. It was rubbing him the wrong way, it was making his breathing a little tighter. He was painfully aware of Kay glancing over at him practically every other second. He tried not to let it get to him too much. But by the time they walked in, he was pretty much having a staring contest with the floor. His heart was lodging up in his throat. Unnecessarily so. But he couldn't help it.

He felt like there was a glowing spotlight beaming straight down on him. Like every single thing about him would scream to all the other agents what had happened. Like he was an open book, and before he even had the chance to say hi, he would be subjected to those stares of pity he was just now beginning to lose from Kay and Dina. He knew going in that it would be difficult; he'd just wanted the normalcy with Kay so desperately, he was willing to come here regardless. But she  _wasn't_ normal. Something was wrong. The fact he didn't even know what it was, was making him even more on-edge. Trailing after her, he forced himself to look up to see that people were indeed staring. People he recognized; some of them smiled at him, and he tried not to notice the smiles that were drenched in that sympathy.

"Cameron!"

"Hey— how are you?"

"How are you holding up?"

"You okay?"

He pasted a smile on his face, and returned the greetings. Offered minimal responses to those who asked questions, not really wanting to start a whole conversation and communicating that clearly as he kept walking along. Some people weren't as tactful. Some people started at him openly, questioning and piteous and everything in between. Most of them at least had the decency to immediately turn away when he noticed their gawking. Some weren't as wise. They walked past someone, and Cameron wilted just a little bit as he felt their eyes track him the entire way. He couldn't remember their name at the moment, but the undisguised curiosity on his face made Cameron feel like he had two heads. He was just as painfully aware of Kay, who turned and shot the person a glare fit to kill the second she noticed their insensitivity. She started to say something, but Cameron ducked his head, grimacing. "Kay," he whispered under his breath.

She looked at him, pained. "Cameron, you shouldn't have to—"

"It's not worth it," he interrupted.

Her expression grew heavy. She didn't say anything for a long moment. Until she gave him a smile— that awkward smile saturated with nerves, that had been rubbing him wrong the entire morning. "Come on," she offered. Cameron weakened with uncertainty, but he stiffened with it even more when Kay reached out and took his hand in hers. He glanced around at everyone else – granted, most of them were busy and weren't paying that much attention – nervously. "Kay— you don't…you don't have to…" It died on his tongue, but she wasn't listening anyway. Her smile got softer, and she responded by intertwining their fingers and tugging him after her.

They definitely got a few stares now. Cameron was waffling between apprehension and happiness. It left a weak little smile on his face as he followed Kay. It took a while, but he eventually cleared his throat and tried to realign himself. "So…what's even happening?" he tried, feeling pretty stupid to be asking the question. It was just now beginning to hit him that he hadn't even stepped out of the house going on the last month. Half of that, he hadn't stepped out of his  _room_. Exclude the trips out that had always ended badly. Being back here now felt out of place. He looked at Kay but she either wasn't answering, or she just hadn't heard. His smile began to decay. "Is there a case?" he pressed. Still, she just kept walking. His stomach was starting to twist. "Where are we going?" he asked.

They just kept walking. Cameron deflated, looking away from her and trying to find something else to focus on. But Kay was veering for one of the rooms, and he perked as he realized. He knew it— it was one of the many conference rooms encased in glass. And it wasn't just any other room; it was the room he'd been taken into when he'd tried to trick Kay into thinking he was Felix's banker. Back when Kay likely would have been the very first person to open the door and kick him straight out of it. Back when she met all his jokes or impromptu magic tricks with a stare that very clearly announced 'In this moment at hand, I would gladly sell you for one singular corn chip. I _implore_  you to take at _least_  ten steps away from me.' Back when she was quick to dismiss him, barely tolerated him.

Now, she was holding his hand, pulling him into the same room and hugging close to his arm once they crossed the threshold. Beaming. Mike was sitting on the edge of the table, a huge grin spreading over his face at their entrance. Deakins was standing next to him; her smile was much smaller in comparison, but getting a smile from Deakins at all was pretty much the equivalent of someone trapping you in a bear hug and shaking you all around. There were other agents too— agents Cameron wasn't nearly as close to, but he'd worked with time and again. They all looked just as delighted to see the two of them. On the table next to Mike was a cake; a weak and disbelieving smile traced over his face when he saw the frosting on top that read 'Welcome Back Cam.'

Kay started out beaming, but when she turned back to look at Cameron, a bit of that nervousness came back. Everyone else was chorusing hellos— actual, earnest hellos, that were excited and happy. Underneath them all, she whispered to him: "Is this okay?" He did a little bit of a double-take as he looked at her. The surprise was still slapped across his face, but seeing this made her wilt even more. "They wanted to do it, they've been talking about it for weeks, and Mike wouldn't leave me alone— he asked every day, and  _demanded_  I not tell you. I just…wasn't sure it would be alright."

He still kept that disbelief. "This is…why I couldn't come yesterday?"

"We needed  _warning!"_  Mike snapped, and Cameron looked back front. "You couldn't just  _run back in,_ we needed cake! I'm always looking for an excuse to get cake," he added, slyer. Cameron grinned, and Mike reached over to pull him into a hug. Kay let go of Cameron a little uncertainly, but relaxed when Cameron just hugged him back. Mike stepped away, but kept a hand on his shoulder. "You look fantastic!" She grimaced, recalling the last time Mike had actually seen him. That was back when he was just beginning to get back onto his feet, and out of his room. He could walk and move, then, but it always took so much out of him. By the end of the day he was always laying down, completely exhausted. To Kay's sheer relief, he was leaps and bounds from then.

Cameron smiled and mumbled a small thank-you. He looked at the cake, and changed the subject very quickly. "You guys didn't have to do all this."

"Of course we did!" Mike objected. "We all missed you! And it's  _cake!"_

By now everyone else had come over to congregate around them. All grinning, all earnest, one person talking over another.

"You should have been here the other day— you wouldn't believe what happened."

"Do you want us to tell you how  _annoying_ Kay was with you gone?"

"She was giving everyone a headache."

"I didn't realize how boring it was  _not_ to have someone ask me to pick a card every day," another coined.

Cameron roused at this. "I did that  _once,"_ he argued, beginning to grin now.

"Once a  _day,"_ they scoffed.

"You have no idea how perfect your timing is; we have this one case…"

"We got vanilla because that one Tuesday you spent an hour elaborating on why red velvet is the worst flavor that exists."

Cameron was smiling. Kay ached with affection as she watched him. Not laughing or joking along with everyone, like he might have before, but clearly finding comfort in the familiar faces. In being here, and someplace normal. She started to open her mouth to say something, when a voice sounded behind her. "Kay?" She looked over her shoulder to see James sticking his head through the door. He eyed the gathering for a second before he asked a little sheepishly: "Do you have a second? You might be able to answer a question we have."

She frowned, looking back at Cameron. He wasn't paying mind to her at all. He was too busy talking to everyone else. She hesitated, but figured there was no harm if she went quickly. She nodded and ducked out, leaving them behind.

Cameron's eyes caught to the side, to see Deakins. She was standing on the edge of everything, her hands clasped in front of her. She'd said nothing this entire time, and when he first looked at her she didn't say anything either. Mike announced they might as well cut some cake before it went stale in the time it took to get around to it. Everyone else turned their attention there, but Cameron was stuck. He hesitated, glancing at Mike, before he turned and made his way to Deakins a little cautiously.

His hands were wringing a little in front of him. It tended to happen when he didn't have cards to distract himself with. He stopped a few feet away and looked at her, not too sure on what to say. Maybe that was why she wasn't speaking, either. Not that she was giving him time to…but because she was just at a loss. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been telling him Jonathan was going back to Rockland. That they couldn't help him. His throat slowly began to grow hot. She must have sensed this, because her eyes flashed with the tiniest sense of pain. Everyone else was oblivious, going on like nothing was wrong.

Cameron was searching her face in silence. She blinked and looked down at the floor. Her forehead slowly began to crease. "Cameron…I…"

"Thank you," he interrupted. She blinked, looking back up at him. He shook his head. "For helping get Jonathan out." Her face fell. His voice was nothing more than a mumble. "I appreciate it. You didn't have to do it, but you did. So thank you."

Deakins couldn't possibly hide the sorrow on her face with the sentiment. Cameron tried to stare through her, rather than at her, as she crumbled just a little bit. He was tired of watching people around him cry. He was tired of seeing people he'd seen as near unshakeable before all this, break down. Dina, Kay, Jonathan, now Deakins. He was tired. But the pain in his chest was sharp and made him look off to the side when she murmured: "Cameron…I'm  _so_  sorry," she murmured.

He nodded a couple times, very slowly. He choked back a swallow and looked at her and tried to offer her a smile he knew wouldn't pass. "I am too," he said simply. They held one another's stare, the two of them falling silent. Cameron tried another grin. This one was better. "You know what this means, though?" He smiled even more when she just looked at him in confusion. "This…whole thing," he gestured around them almost triumphantly, "means you  _like_ me." She did a double-take, but he was already sweeping on. "You  _do!_ You  _like_ me— you've  _always_ liked me, but now you can't  _pretend_ you don't."

"I don't have to pretend," she managed after a moment. Getting her eyes to slowly narrow.

"I'm  _great_ , and you know it, and now  _I_ know you know it."

Her glare fractured just the tiniest bit. She started to smile, and his grin grew about ten times over. But she scrounged up her glower again, and her voice was more barbed when she growled: "You have  _five minutes_ before you all have to get back to work— this isn't a Chuck E Cheese."

"Chuck E Cheese is funner," Cameron announced.

She shot him a look. She brushed past him, grumbling: "Funner isn't a  _word_." But when she walked past, Cameron could see her grin.

He turned to Kay to rub it in her face, but he stopped short. She wasn't there. He blinked a couple times, and did a tiny circle to try and see where she'd gone. If she'd just gone to get cake, or talk to someone— but he didn't see her anywhere. He frowned, confused. "Cameron!" He jerked at Mike's call, whirling back around. He was holding out a plate. He didn't move at first, and Mike eyed him. "…Something wrong?" he asked.

Cameron fidgeted, blinking a couple times. He swallowed and made a face, shaking his head. He didn't know why his heart was beginning to thud faster than normal. "No— yeah, no, I'm fine." He took the plate with a small cough. Mike was still looking at him oddly. He shook his head again and tried to shove his insensible worry down. Tried to take a deeper breath because suddenly it took extra thinking. "How about you— uh, tell me about— tell me about whatever…whatever's going on. What's happening," he pushed out. He shifted his weight a little, and stretched his neck to the left. "Fill me in," he implored.

Mike seemed dubious. He lowered his voice and asked again: "Cameron, is there something wrong?"

" _No."_ The reply was a little fast and a little too hard to be considered really trustworthy. Cameron regretted it immediately and blew out a short breath, smiling again. "I'm fine, nothing's wrong, tell me what I've missed." He raised his eyebrows a little, trying to plead with Mike silently to just accept it.

He seemed unsure. But eventually he cleared his throat. "Okay…" he said. Cameron breathed out yet another harder puff of air, and he looked down to the cake as Mike started. "Okay, well…alright, so last week we got a tip on— well, I guess you wouldn't know about that either. Let me—  _two weeks_ ago, there was this robbery…" Cameron was nodding his head. But the longer Mike went on, the harder it was to listen attentively. It was like radio static was playing over whatever he was saying. His lips were pressing tighter together; his heartbeat was getting louder in his ears. He picked up the plastic fork and immediately put it back down when he saw how much it was shaking in his hand.

He kept his eyes on the plate, hearing Mike still talking, but not able to focus at all on the words he was actually saying. Everyone else was starting to step away and get back to work. A couple of them called out goodbyes, a couple others patted his shoulder, but he didn't react to either. He just held the plate a little tighter in his hand; the edge of it wrinkled and folded. His hands were beginning to tremble so much you could see it in the cake. His expression stayed blank, and he kept nodding every so often, but his attention was just wandering more and more. His stomach was twisting; there was a ringing in his ears, and it was getting louder.

"…meron?" He could hardly hear him. "Are you sure you're…-ght?"

"Sorry." Cameron snapped back to attention at the sound of her voice. Kay was walking back in, smiling apologetically. The sheer amount of relief Cameron felt was like a sucker punch. It swept through him from head to toe. He lost about two inches of height, he relaxed so much. A worn smile traced over his face when she went to stand close to his side, their shoulders almost brushing. "I'm back now. You're filling him in?" Mike started to answer, but she got sidetracked, going over to the table instead. "Let me get some of this first— I'm going to get distracted, and then I'm not going to have the energy to deal with the both of you today."

Mike snickered, saying something back to her. But Cameron wasn't listening.

His face was falling as he stared a little off to the side. His shoulders drooped, and his expression clouded. As he realized what it felt like to hear those three words. At how sharp a decline it had been, and how sharp a resolve, with her exit and entrance. How he'd almost panicked over nothing, simply because he'd lost track of Kay for not even a full two minutes. How it had felt like he'd been drowning until he was yanked back out of the water with the simple phrase. 'I'm back now.'

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He flopped down, landing with a tiny 'oof' across Kay's legs and refusing to move once he did. Kay perked, looking up from her book and cracking a tiny smile. His face was pressed down into the mattress, so his voice was muffled when he spoke. "I smell like pomegranates," he announced in a monotone mumble. Kay stifled a tiny giggle. He picked his head up but only enough to rest his chin on the bed instead. He made a face as he looked towards the door. "Dina got a new kind of shampoo, she didn't  _ask_ before she did, and now I smell like pomegranates."

Kay smirked, before she looked back down at her novel. "That's very tragic, I'm very sorry," she offered.

"My life is a cacophony of suffering," Cameron informed her, his tone pleasant. She snorted, and he shifted awkwardly so he could look at her. "What?"

"Nothing…I'm just surprised you know what the word 'cacophony' means," she snickered.

He pushed himself up, pasting an overdramatic expression of shock on his face. She looked up from her book again and just smiled even more, and laughed even more when he blustered: "I know what cacophony means! And I'm  _offended_ you thought that I  _didn't!"_ She rolled her eyes, but closed her book. Cameron tried to keep the angry look on his face, and not crack into  _too_ much of a smile. "I also know what the word 'rude' means. So."

She giggled again, her expression overly soft with an immeasurable amount of affection. Seeing this, Cameron's own expression started to break. He was trying to glare at her, but he couldn't keep himself from mirroring her grin. "You continue to defy expectations," she gushed.

"Oh,  _do_ I?" he mused, snickering as Kay nodded and giggled. He laughed, and shifted closer as he moved to kiss her. She stiffened in surprise, but it was a pleasant kind of surprise. Her smile matched his, and her expression was just as adoring as his was, when he pulled away after only a couple seconds. He stayed close, though, and she found her hand going to the side of his face, her fingers smoothing over his skin before they traced back into his hair. He leaned ever so slightly into the touch, and her eyes became even softer.

"Was today okay?" she murmured, knowing she'd asked before but wanting to be absolutely sure. "I didn't want to…make a big deal out of it…I probably could have put a stop to at least the cake. And they asked me not to tell you, I didn't…want you thinking anything was wrong." There was genuine concern on her face as she studied him. "I was worried you wouldn't like it. And I wouldn't blame you. Mike is annoying, and it was entirely his idea," she tacked on, her voice lighter.

Cameron kept his smile. If anything, it might have grown. "It was fine. I missed it." He hesitated before he confessed: "I missed being with you." Even though they hadn't done much today. They hadn't actually gone anywhere— they'd stayed in Kay's office. Mostly she was doing paperwork and Cameron bothered her every so often when he wasn't twirling around in his chair and getting dizzy. He threw a paper ball at her a couple times. But it was only to test her reflexes, and see them get better and better. After the eighth one, she  _really_ started catching them. And chucking them back. It was how it used to be. Which was all he wanted. His eyes flashed, and he murmured a little softer: "Is that…bad?" Was it too  _much?_

"No," she grinned. Emotion was thicker behind her words as she returned: "I missed you too." And somehow, Cameron wasn't all too sure she was just talking about being at work. The way she was looking at him and carding through his hair made him almost certain. He could practically see her thinking back. And he had no idea what it was she was thinking back to— what all she had seen. It was lost, to him. He had no idea what he'd  _said,_ even. He didn't remember the day he was brought back home at  _all._ He had snippets, but there was absolutely nothing coherent. He didn't remember what he looked like. He didn't remember how in the world he even got all the way down to the visiting room in the first place, if he was going to be frank.

He had no idea how he'd looked or acted, but he knew it had to be burned into Kay's mind irrevocably, because  _she_ had seen him. He knew that she thought about it, and probably about other times too, like when he'd called her from the bar— yet another event he had no recollection of. He didn't know what he'd said then, either, but he was certain he'd said more of  _something_ that time. He knew she thought about those times. He could tell when. Her demeanor would change. A couple times he'd been tempted to ask. Just to know. What he was like, what had happened. But…he  _didn't_ want to know. He already knew too much. He just knew it had been bad. And that those memories were likely the reasons behind whenever Kay hugged him tighter at night for no reason, out of the blue. Why she looked at him like she was now. And it was a different kind of look, but it wasn't filled with pity. It was filled with relief. Unimaginable relief and unimaginable happiness. It made her eyes shine; it made her smile.

He couldn't help it; he kissed her again, his chest too warm to keep himself back. This time, she held to him just the tiniest bit closer. And when it was over, she kept her forehead pressed to his, like she didn't want him to leave just yet. Cameron was silent. Kay took to silence as well, just in case he needed the quiet. But she took one of his hands in her own, tracing soothingly against his palm with a feather-light touch. He watched her, the warmth in his chest building. Tripling and quadrupling as he looked at her contented expression, as he felt her fingers smooth over his wrist, which had lost its bruising. She didn't interrupt him, or rush him. She was perfectly happy to just sit here with him and say absolutely nothing.

It fell out of his mouth before he could stop it. Before he could slam on the brakes.

"I love you," he whispered.

She jerked, looking up at him sharply. Her eyes flashed with shock. Immediately, he was regretting it. He was kicking himself – he'd gotten  _really_  good at that recently, he didn't mean to brag – demanding to know why he thought it would be a good idea to completely ruin the moment. He always had terrible ideas—  _godawful_ ones,  _why_ did he  _insist_ on  _constantly_ forgetting that? The silence stretched on, and it was the worst thing he'd ever heard in his entire life. "I'm sorry," he breathed, bordering on horror. He was pulling away, withdrawing into himself and beginning to cringe. "I'm…sorry, I…"

Kay hurriedly grabbed ahold of him to stop him. He tensed at the unexpected touch, but she was turning his head towards her, leaning so that their eyes could meet. "Hey— no." Her voice was weak, and there was a watery smile stretching from ear to ear. Her eyes were bright. From just the tiniest hint of tears, but mostly from just the sheer amount of happiness. "Don't." She couldn't even speak above a whisper. Cameron's heart tore, and he swallowed hard as she pulled him closer gently.  _"Don't."_

Cameron began to wilt in embarrassed uncertainty, but Kay's smile only grew tenderer. She leaned forward and kissed him again. Limiting herself to only a couple before she drew back; though it took a considerable amount of effort. It was almost difficult to take in enough air to murmur: "I love you too." She watched as his expression gradually changed. From slight worry, to disbelief, to happiness. He  _lit up._ His eyes glowed, and a smile broke out over his face. It physically  _hurt_ Kay to see, he was so happy. If she had it her way, she would stay like this forever— seeing him exactly this way. So happy, so excited, so much like before. She laughed and added, just in the hope to see him like this a little longer: "I love you  _so_  much, Cameron Black."

He laughed a little bit at this, beaming. And, a little unexpectedly, he swooped forward, cupping her cheek with one hand and delving the other back into her hair as he guided her into another kiss. She could feel his smile, then, against her own. She could hear him continue to laugh, in one of their pauses. She expected him to pull away after a tragically short moment, like he usually did. But he didn't. He stayed, kissing her in that same, endearing way he always did. Slowly, softly, sweetly. And in return she remained overly gentle, as if he was fit to break. It was down to a science now, these tiny little pecks— or at least it was so on her end. She had to get it right; she had to make sure it was okay. And like this, it was. It was  _just_ right.

Kay moved to set her book aside, and she squeaked when Cameron closed the gap between them the very instant she did. She hadn't expected the sudden rush in proximity. He curled closer to her, and Kay's hands rose to hold his face as he did, half out of sheer habit, half because she wasn't sure where else would be okay to touch him. Every time he leaned the slightest bit away, she was expecting him to break off entirely…but still, that never happened. He came back every time, and they stayed that way, in their soft give-and-take. In that same achingly slow but absolutely perfect way. Unhurried and unrushed.

Usually Kay was always thinking, or worrying. It could be with anything; Cameron could pick up the remote to turn the TV on, and she would start thinking about what she would do if something upsetting came on. If something happened, and she needed to be able to help him. She began to do the same thing here— she started to try and stop in order to figure out what she should do if something went wrong. She started to try and follow the line of thought to actually make a plan. But the effort was quick to sip her mind. She couldn't manage to keep ahold of the attention. She couldn't bring herself to focus on anything other than Cameron. On the way his lips felt on hers; on how  _close_ he was. On how perfect he was.

It wasn't clear on who was the first. On who changed it. But  _whoever_  changed it, the other all too willingly followed suit. The gaps they took began to get shorter and shorter. Gradually – so gradual a change it was impossible to notice until it was too late – there was less time to breathe between each kiss. Their slow rhythm began to stutter and break into something faster. Something more urgent, more demanding. Cameron began to kiss her deeper, lean more into her, pull her closer. Kay's hands moved— one went up to thread tight into his hair, and the other curled down into his shirt. She could hear him slowly become breathless; she could feel how shaky each inhale and exhale was becoming, and she could feel herself start to lose control of her own breathing.

It was so _easy_  to lose control once she started, and she should have probably felt guilty for that. She would later. Right now, she just gave in. She pulled him even closer to her, feeling his chest and wondering whether it was his heart or hers that was going so fast. Cameron didn't fight her at all. He let himself be tugged into her and when he did, a shivering kind of huff melted into Kay's mouth that immediately caused her to arch impossibly closer just so she could have it again. So she could feel Cameron kiss her even harder, so his hold in her hair would tighten again for that brief moment, so she could hear that shaky hiss. And when she did, her mind went blank. Her hand slipped back more into his hair, towards the back of his head, so she could kiss him with even more force.

It was  _maddening_  how so simple a reaction could completely derail everything.

All coherent thought had slipped away; everything was a haze she couldn't quite discern anything through. All she knew for sure was that any movement, no matter how miniscule, made her gasp against Cameron's mouth, as if she'd been burned just from his hand tracing down the curve of her neck. That she was dizzy from a lack oxygen, but far too unwilling to take any longer a pause for air. That the very  _instant_  he left her, she was scrambling to recapture hm. Pulling him back down to her, pointlessly, because he was just as averse to the pause as she was. Breathing wasn't as important as this. She needed this  _more._ She needed to feel him more. Every hitch in his breath, every noise that escaped him, she needed to  _hear_ more.

She was so engrossed she had no idea how long it lasted— the desperate, rushed, but still-earnest exchange. It could have only been ten seconds; it could have been a minute, maybe even a little more. Where the both of them momentarily forgot their roles. Forgot the situation, forgot everything. Had a split second where the past didn't matter, and maybe had never even happened in the first place. Like nothing was wrong. It could have easily just been a normal night— they'd just wrapped up a case, they'd just finished going out to dinner. It could have been something completely natural. It could have been something  _simple._

It  _could_  have been.

But you can't stay in denial for long. It catches up to you. In this case, all too soon.

Kay didn't recognize it at first. She was so intent on memorizing every little detail – the way he pulled her close like he was afraid of losing her, the way his breathing could gasp in a little sharper than normal before he pressed his lips back against hers – she didn't notice the other little details beginning to develop. But she eventually did. She became aware of his shoulders locking up. She felt his fingers curl just a little tighter in her hair and stay that way, out of sheer anxiety. She heard chokes start and die in the back of his throat. She felt him begin to shake; she felt the way his movements began to stutter. The instant she recognized these, and the instant she could drag herself back center and realize  _why_  they were there, she got herself to move. She forced herself to pull away from him, and do so quickly. Her chest tore when she did, and she was dangerously close to objecting aloud, she was so sorry for it to end— she was so desperate to stay close to him. If she hadn't been so winded, she might have.

She just leaned away. The moment she did, he was jerking back. His hands were trembling as he covered his face. His breathing was erratic, and he closed his eyes, his expression setting into a harsh cringe. Her own breathing was elevated, but not nearly as much, and not for the same reason. And for a split second when she withdrew, the only emotion she felt was a severe tug of frustration. It was hard and strong— practically slapping her across the face. The severity of it almost snatched away whatever breath she had left. It burned her chest and her face as she looked at him, and it almost took ahold of her completely.

But it was only for a split second. The irritation didn't even really have time to flicker over her face before she was coming back to her senses. Before her eyes widened, and the emotion was immediately replaced by harrowing guilt that she had even allowed herself to feel that in the first place. That she had been so selfish as to even for a single  _second_  think that she had a right to feel anything even  _close_  to exasperation. Not with this. Especially not with this. It was horrible of her to even entertain. So the very second she recognized the emotion she was shoving it down. She was shaking her head to clear it and leaning out to try and catch Cameron's eyes. Mostly looking at and judging his expression to see whether or not he was actually present. Whether or not that had been too much for him. "Cameron?" She kept her voice as soft as she could, while also trying to get his attention. "Cameron…are you okay?"

When he didn't answer right away, she was already beginning to feel the first couple stings of panic. But after a pause, he did. His voice was quiet, but it was weighed down with about a million different things. Frustration, disappointment, sorrow, guilt, regret— the first two being the vast majority. "I'm sorry," he choked out. Kay was already shaking her head, but he was still looking away from her. "I'm sorry, I…" He closed his eyes. "I want…it's not…"

"Hey." She grabbed his chin and lifted his head, so he could be level with her. He didn't open his eyes from the flinch at first, and she wilted. "Cam, _look_  at me," she pleaded gently. Still, he hesitated. But something in her voice must have compelled him; that, or he was just too guilty to add onto the weight of ignoring her. But when he looked at her it just made all his self-loathing that much more apparent. She could see it in every aspect of his face. It hurt to acknowledge, but she held his stare. She shook her head, stroking a thumb across his cheek. "Don't apologize," she begged, rushing on when he looked like he was going to object. "Don't apologize because it doesn't  _matter,_ Cameron, it doesn't matter to me. At all."

Doubt still plagued every inch of his face. She shook her head again. "You're enough, Cameron," she pressed, practically able to see his inner thought process. And she could tell she struck a nerve by the way his eyes flashed bright with pain. " _You_ are enough for me. Everything else is secondary. Okay?" He was still mute. She searched his eyes, imploring him to understand. She hesitated, unsure, but decided to try and go on anyway. Though her voice was quieter when she did. "You need time," she murmured, his reaction to her words painful to witness. "You just need _time_ ; and you can take all the time you need, because I just want you to be happy. That's more important. I don't want you to feel guilty about that. I don't want you thinking I'm waiting for anything other than that."

He stared at her, pained. Looking for the smallest sense of doubt he could pick at like a frayed string on a sweater and unravel her entire sentiment. But there was none to pick up on. She just looked at him kindly, and sadly, willing him to understand. He weakened, his eyes flashing raw with that frustrated sense of disappointment again. Her hand had gone to his cheek – the one with the slice she didn't know the origin of, just like all the others – and he reached up to hold to her wrist. His voice was weaker when he murmured: "I just want to be good for you." He sounded guilty, and upset.

Her heart ripped with pain. She didn't know what to say. She just held out her arms, figuring that would be the best response. Sure enough, after a tiny hesitation, Cameron leaned into her. She laid back with him and nestled into his side. He wrapped his arms around her. She glanced up to catch his expression, and wilted at the strained look that was on his face. He was staring up at the ceiling despairingly. A million things seeming to be going through his head. Kay wilted and tore her gaze away. Settled back into him and tried to offer him comfort. Tried not to wonder what it would be like if things were different.

Tried not to immediately hate herself for the thought.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"And how are you sleeping?"

Cameron was staring at the floor, which was what he usually stared at, when he was here. That, or the wall. If he really wanted to shake it up, he'd stare at the picture frame on the wall. It was a picture of rocks. How  _stupid_ was that? Just…a bunch of rocks. He could go outside and see that, why put a fancy picture up? This was the fifth time he'd been here and he was just as ticked off as the first time he'd walked through the door. Twice a week, he had to sit here and mumble answers and have information dragged out of him, and it was awful. Therapy didn't  _work,_ it wasn't  _'for him'…_ but…it made Kay happy. So.

"Fine," he sighed.

"Less nightmares? Than last week?" she pressed. At this point, Cameron should probably feel guilty he didn't remember her name. But somehow, he couldn't quite get himself to care enough. He managed a tiny shake of the head. "The same amount? Or more?" He took in a slow breath. Kept his stare down on the carpeting, trying to focus enough to pick out the individual strings of fabric. At his silence, she started again. "Would you feel comfortable telling me about some of them? Do you think you could tell me if…they're the same, or if they're different?"

Cameron grimaced. He shifted and looked down at his lap, rubbing his arms as he leaned back in the chair. His skin was already beginning to crawl. He was already starting to feel restless. He crossed his legs and then uncrossed them. The entire time, she watched him closely. He said nothing. She nudged him again, her gaze turning thoughtful. "Tell me about them, Cameron."

There was still a long pause. Still, Cameron hesitated. Until he sighed and grimaced, ducking his head a little bit and clearing his throat. "I, uh…" He cleared his throat again. "I'm…standing in…the hallway—  _a_ hallway, I don't…I guess it's not important." He took in another slow breath, and he turned to the side, propping his head up and covering his mouth a little bit in the process. It made his voice quieter, and harder to understand. Maybe that'd make it easier to get out. "And…I'm standing in front of…this door, and I…I can't move, I can't…decide what to do.

"I want to…open it, I want to run inside, but…I want to run  _away_ , too, I don't know which one I should do, but I can't do  _either_ , I just…stand there, and…" He winced. He had to stop again, and it stretched on for a long time. He shook his head, and started to curl more into himself. "And everything is…too loud, and I can't breathe, and…down the hall someone's…yelling, and…that part's…different sometimes. Sometimes it's…sometimes it's Kay, and…I can't hear her, but she's crying and…yelling something. Sometimes it's—" He blinked a couple times, stopping himself short. He was staring a hole through the wall, trying not to blink. He had to clear his throat. "Most of the time it's Jonathan," he mumbled instead.

"Jonathan," she echoed. He didn't say anything, but he did give a tiny nod. "What do you think that means? When you see your brother the most?" He kept mute. He shifted so he was covering his mouth entirely. Her eyes flashed. "Have you decided what you want to do about Jonathan? The past couple of times you've been here…you haven't mentioned him very much. You hadn't decided about whether you want to have a relationship with him. So why don't you talk about that now?" Still nothing. "What do you want to do about Jonathan, Cameron?"

"It's complicated." His words were muffled through his palm.

"Why?"

He swallowed hard. He thought about Kay. How she'd glared daggers at his brother across the table when she thought Cameron wasn't looking. How she'd yelled at him to get out—  _I didn't think for one second you deserved any kind of forgiveness. And I still don't. I never will._ He thought of how Jonathan had spat at her when she'd shoved him away, how heartbroken Dinah had looked when she was torn between the two of them. How Gunter had snapped at him, telling him that he was being unfair, how Dina had immediately begun to yell in response. He flinched. "Because it is. It's not just…I have to…" He sighed, letting it die. She made it sound too easy. Too simple. It  _wasn't._

She stared at him in silence for a long moment. He didn't mind— it was better than her talking to him. But then she ruined it. "Cameron, hand me that." He perked, looking up and turning to see her gesturing to a pen that was sitting on the table between them. It was equidistant. Pointing at it got her halfway there at it was. He had no idea why she couldn't just get it herself. Or what she needed it for— she had her laptop to take 'notes' this time. But all the same, he leaned out and picked it up, extending it to her. She smiled and took it. And then immediately turned to just set it down on her chair and turn back to her computer.

Cameron blinked fast a couple times. He frowned, staring at the pen in confusion. But she was moving on. "Relationships are difficult in themselves. But they're especially difficult when something so horrible happens with someone we had been the closest to, before." He tore his eyes away from the pen. But the frown stayed on his face. "When you think about Jonathan— when I mention his name…what do you think about? What does your mind go to? The way he left you? Or how it was before?"

He considered it, and his eyes began to slowly burn. He didn't answer her, but he knew what the answer  _was_. He always thought of when they were kids. He thought of when Jonathan shoved him because he said a bad joke. That time the power went out and they had to light about five dozen candles, one of which had set his sleeve on fire and Jonathan had to hurriedly smack out because he hadn't even noticed. He remembered eating ice cream with him every birthday— their own little tradition because they often hadn't had time for anything else. Talking at night because neither of them were tired, and as soon as the other started to get a little sleepy the other would start laughing again and the cycle would restart. He thought of Jonathan hugging him tight every time he nailed a trick, he remembered practicing with him and not even caring that the practice lasted seven hours, because they were just having so much fun.

There were so many memories, years of closeness, of being the only one that was really there for the other. On the other side of the scale was the punch that had knocked him cold, the icy look on Jonathan's face as he'd said he wanted nothing to do with him anymore, the reason he'd been at Rockland at all. There weren't as many. But weren't they heavier? Didn't  _those_ tip the scale? But what about now? What about the way he'd looked at him that one night, relieved and happy? The way he'd apologized over and over again, the way he was calling? The way he'd teared up when he said he didn't mean any of it, that he made a mistake? Did those make the others any lighter? Or did they make it all heavier, somehow?

What did it matter?

It was earsplittingly silent. It was clear he wasn't going to actually speak. So she did.

"Cameron, I want you to step out." He looked up, yanked out of his reverie. She wasn't looking at him; she was typing something on her laptop. He was buffering, trying to figure out what she'd meant, when she elaborated. "Just into the hall for a couple of minutes. Three." He looked from her to the door. She met his confused expression steadily. He opened his mouth to ask why. Ask her about the pen. She began to straighten as he did. But he took it back. He just closed it and just stood up, exiting the room.

He shut the door behind him and stood there very blankly. He looked over his shoulder to the door, making a face before he turned back. How much  _were_ these sessions? And now he was gonna waste some of it just standing here? He already didn't like being here in general, now he got the opportunity to stand alone and stare at a wall. He could do that at home for free. He scowled, checking his watch and leaning against the wall. This was  _stupid_. Kay always asked him how sessions went when he got back home and he usually always lied. Said they were fine. Today it would be _considerably_  harder to do that.

He waited the entire three minutes. The instant the second hand was ticking into place, he turned, irritated as he stepped back in. She didn't even look at him when he came back. He looked around, expecting some kind of change in the room or something to at least justify her asking him to leave. But there was nothing. He stood in the doorway for a second, waiting for an explanation. He got none. He started to make back for his chair, but she stopped him halfway. "Don't sit down." He stopped, seething with frustration by this point. His hands clenched at his sides. But he just turned to look at her, staying standing. "Are you still ignoring your brother's calls?" He blinked, looking around awkwardly. Why couldn't he sit? "If you don't want a relationship, wouldn't it be easier to tell him that directly? Instead of seeing those calls pile up?"

"It…" His heart began to sink. "I mean… _yeah_ , but…"

"Is there still some part of you that wants him in your life?" He said nothing. "You know the only way to know that for sure is to let him in. To try again. Is that what you want?" He looked down at the ground. All there was, was silence. Her eyes flashed. She pointed over to the far corner of the room. "Cameron, stand in that corner." He followed her gesture. His shoulders weakened. Exasperation was beginning to burn underneath his skin. He was waiting for her to come out and tell him it was all a joke, but the look on her face was completely serious. So, resentfully, he turned and did as she asked, going over to stand with his back fenced into the corner. His expression was pinched when he did, but he went even stiffer when she just said: "Turn around."

He fought the urge to groan. He turned, stomping a little, so his back was to her. Maybe it was his anger over all this stuff that made him pipe up. "You make it sound easy," he snapped. "It's  _not_ that easy. It's not…black-and-white, like you're saying."

"Your feelings?"

This was so  _freaking_ stupid. He glared at the wall, but talked back to her. " _No,_ I mean the way that…no. Just— the whole thing isn't that simple. It's way more than you're making it out to be."

"You're right. I can't imagine how difficult this is for you; I can't even begin to understand. But…I also think you're making it even  _harder_ on yourself."

"You don't know anything," he growled, his hands clenching again. His throat felt hot, his eyes stung, his voice got harder. When he went on, he heard himself grow harsher, and angrier. "You don't know anything—  _nobody_ knows anything!" He was glaring a hole into the wall. He could imagine it beginning to burn and singe just from the rage alone. Now that it was starting to build, it was difficult to keep a hold of it. "Nobody  _knows_  what it was like, nobody knows what it feels like now! Nobody deserves to tell me what I should do or how I should  _feel_ or  _where_ I should be, because they don't  _understand!_ They think they do, but they  _don't!"_

She was silent. Which was good, because he had more to say. It was all rushing out at once, as he kept glowering into the corner. "They don't understand but they make it seem like they know better than I do— like they have all the details!" His lips shook, with this. He scowled even harder, as if to compensate for this. "Like  _they_ have all the details! When  _I_ don't even have all the details!" His voice broke a little with this. It started to crumble, and he took in a quick breath. " _I_ don't even know all of it! I don't even know all of what happened!

"And _I_  have to deal with that, and  _I_  have to live the rest of my life knowing that, and  _I_  have to live the rest of my life with this thing on  _my_  arm, and they don't have to do any of that! They don't have to— remember it and think about it and have nightmares about it, but no— they know more!  _You_ know more about it than I do, you  _all_ know more than me, and I'm just supposed to  _listen._ And I'm supposed to  _get better and stop being a mess for them faster so they'll stop feeling frustrated._ I'm supposed to…eat for them and sleep for them and smile for them and pretend I'm fine for them! I'm supposed to tell  _you_  I slept this week, and I ate a lot more this week, and I went for a walk this week, and I didn't do any of that, I just lie, and you take it because you don't  _know_ how  _impossible_ that is for me to do, because you don't  _understand what it was like._ And what it's  _still_ like!

"And I have to— make  _Kay_  happy, I have to pretend it doesn't hurt when I can't—  _be_  with her the way she deserves me to be with her, I have to see her frustrated— and she never says she is but I  _know!_  And it's not  _fair!_  I have to pretend I don't know that Dina  _cries_ sometimes in her room when she thinks I'm somewhere else, or I don't hear her, I have to pretend that I don't care Gunter and Jordan have been gone for ages. I have to pretend I haven't ruined everything, and I have to make sure I don't  _ruin_ anything else! I can't let Jonathan back in, because Kay hates him! Because Dina doesn't know what to feel, and putting her on the spot like that isn't right! I can't talk to Jonathan because then Gunter will want to come back and then Jordan will want to come back, and I  _want_ them all back, but Jordan hates Jonathan too, and Gunter and Jordan hate each  _other,_ and they'll fight, and we'll all get even more broken up all because of something I did  _again!"_

"Do  _you_  want Jonathan back, Cameron?" she asked slowly.

Cameron was breathing heavier. At the question, his face fell. Some of the anger melted off, being replaced with confusion, and his shoulders slackened. "I…" His chest felt hollow. "It doesn't…" He couldn't finish. He remembered what he'd told Kay what felt like ages ago. Simply, and emptily.  _It doesn't matter what I want._

"Sit down, Cameron."

He blinked. Numbly moving to comply and sit, still facing that corner.

"Cross your legs."

He did. Frowning as he looked down at his hands.

There was a long pause. It was so quiet, you could hear the clock's second hand twitch its way across the face. Her voice was even softer when she eventually asked: "Cameron, why did you do all of those things?" He didn't answer. His face was falling more and more. She elaborated. "Each request I made of you was more ridiculous than the last. But you never even asked me why I wanted you to do any of them. You just  _did_  them." He stared back up at the wall. His stomach twisted. She asked again: "Why did you do all of those things?"

His reply was monotone and soft. "You told me to."

"Why should that make a difference? Just because I told you?"

This, he didn't answer. The lump in his throat was too much to speak around. He felt sick.

"Did you  _want_  to do all of those things?" Nothing. "Cameron…did you want to do them?"

"…No," he whispered.

"So why did you?" His mouth was dry. His eyes stung as she asked: "Why are you juggling all of your friends' problems…when you really should just be focusing on yourself? And what you think is best for yourself, and your recovery? Do you not want to do that, either?" His shoulders hunched. It was answer enough. "Have you told them that? Or have you been doing it automatically, like you did these things for me? Even though you lost session time, even though you aren't comfortable? Why are you sacrificing things that  _you_  need…just because you think I want you to?" He was mute, but a tear started to run down his face. He ducked his head and tried to wipe it away hopefully so that it wouldn't be too noticeable. "Why are you sacrificing things you might need to get better, because of the people around you? Because of what you think you have to do?

"Because you're absolutely right, Cameron: we don't know. We don't know what this was like for you, so we don't know what you need and what would help you the most. Only you do. But you  _cannot_ get those things if you don't understand this. If you're too busy worrying about other people, and making other people happy...doing what  _they_ want you to do, and  _refusing_ to acknowledge the fact…that you  _don't_ want to do it." Her voice turned gentler. "You're making this harder for yourself, Cameron, by downsizing your worth and your importance.  _You_ are what's most important. What you  _want_ and what you  _want to do_ is what's most important. You  _have_  to know that. Because you're right: you're the only person that really knows how difficult this is for you. So you're the only person that knows what might help the most…what needs to happen."

He wasn't even blinking. He wasn't speaking, or moving.

"So what do you want, Cameron?" she asked again. "Not what Kay wants; not what Dina wants…what do  _you_ want? What do you think would help  _you?"_

He stayed as still as a statue for what felt like forever. Like he hadn't understood a single word she said, and was just stalling for time. Until he stirred and looked down at himself, swallowing hard and wiping at his eyes with a tiny grimace. Until he took in a slow breath.

Until he pushed himself up to his feet, and turned back around. And went to sit back in the chair.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron was sitting at the kitchen table, staring blandly at the prescription bottles that were in front of him. An assortment, all for different things, that he took every morning when he got up. Tiny pills, larger ones, blue ones and white ones. All supposed to be doing something for him, and maybe they were and it was just in such small increments he wasn't able to see the change himself. He just knew that it felt like he had to choke them down with every dose. That it felt strange to have to take medication in order to do what he'd always done naturally before…smile, laugh, actually feel okay. How do you  _lose_ an ability, like that? Something he'd had for thirty years…yanked away from him just like that. Now artificially administered, and nowhere to be found if he skipped a dose.

He was preoccupied, rolling one of the small bottles up and down the table absent-mindedly. He was so side-tracked he didn't notice when Kay came in. But he did perk and come back to himself at her voice. "You're up early." She sounded warm and happy, like she always did. But now, it just set a rock in the pit of his stomach. He sat up a little more and glanced at her only briefly before he looked back down at the bottles. There was a tiny space of quiet, where she must have felt a sense of worry. But all the same, she walked over and planted a tiny kiss against his cheek. "Did you eat anything?" He was  _supposed_ to take the medication with food…or at least that's what he was told. It could very well be a lie just to get him to eat more. He'd thought about googling it, but he didn't care that much.

He didn't answer her. Her face fell. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. She just nodded and began to turn away from him. He closed his eyes. "Kay." Already, his voice was hollow, and weak. But it got her to stop. Already, he could feel her concern spike. He kept his eyes closed for the time being, his shoulders curling forward. She gave him time. Which he had to use. It was a while before he could force himself to keep going. "You've…done so much…for me."

"Cameron, it's nothing, I  _want_ to, I—"

"You've done so much for me," he repeated, a little louder, a little firmer. He opened his eyes this time and looked at her. She shut her mouth, searching his face a little sadly. But she didn't interrupt. His expression flashed with a tiny sense of remorse. But he kept himself in check. He knew what he wanted to say. He'd thought about it long and hard, to try and get just the right words. "I'm never going to be able to repay you for what you did for me. What you keep doing. And I know I haven't made it easy at all, and I know it's been a lot, and…I can't promise that I'll be any better. I'm trying…I'm trying  _really hard…_ but I can't promise it. Somehow…you never seem to care about that.

"I wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you." Sorrow immediately flooded her expression. Mingling with that worry, which was only growing the longer he continued. He tried to keep going despite it. "That's not…an exaggeration; it's the truth. And…I can never tell you how much you mean to me because nothing I could say could even come close. You…helped me to here, and you _keep_  helping me, even though I might not deserve it at times. I love you…to  _pieces_." His eyes were beginning to water. She registered it the very instant he felt them begin to burn, and she took a step closer, fear crawling over her face. But he wasn't finished. "Kay…you've done so much for me," he repeated, a little weaker. This next part was the part he would have to force out. "And I…I  _hate_  that I have to ask you to do something else for me."

He got the response he knew he would. Immediately, she was shaking her head, stepping closer to him and putting a comforting hand on his cheek. Her other hand rubbed his shoulder. "It's okay, Cameron," she reassured, her voice sweet. She gave him another smile. "Don't be sorry. What do you need? I'll do anything."

Her swiftness made his throat swell even more. His eyes got glassier as he stared at her.

The reply barely got out. "I need you to forgive him," he all but whispered.

She blinked, confused at first. But as the realization dawned, he watched her deflate. He watched the battle of emotions on her face; the confusion, the surprise, the reluctance, the sadness, the barely-there anger at the mere implication. She said nothing. In her shock, her hand fell away from his face. He closed his eyes again, in a flinch, and tried to shove himself along. "I need you to forgive Jonathan, Kay," he pressed. He felt her hand leave his shoulder, now. Irrationally, he felt colder. "I need… _everyone_ to forgive Jonathan."

Silence reigned as she digested this. When he dared look at her, the face she wore was painful to witness. She was looking at him with enough sadness to last a lifetime. And he knew what must be going through her mind. He knew she was seeing the things he didn't remember. The days that were completely wiped from his memory. Reliving whatever it was he'd said or done— however it was he'd looked. Pinning it all on his brother like he knew she did. Her voice was thick when she finally got herself to speak. Her eyes were welling up with their own tears. "I…Cameron, I…I can't." The last two words were flimsy croaks. He grimaced in disappointment, and she struggled on, growing more strained. "I can't forgive him, Cameron. I can't."

"You  _have_ to," Cameron objected weakly. Fighting tooth and nail against himself to hold himself together. But his words were getting thicker, too. "You have to, Kay." The way he said this almost made it seem like he was begging.

"Cameron, I  _can't._ I can't forgive him."

"For me," Cameron pleaded. He searched her face desperately, watching her physically cringe in pain. His heart ripped open, it pained him so much to see. But he had to keep going.  _Keep going, keep going…_ "If you don't want to do it for him, then do it for me. Forgive him for  _me."_ She only looked at him despairingly, saying nothing. "I  _need_  you to forgive him. I need Dina to forgive him. I need Jordan to forgive him. I need  _everyone…_ to forgive him."

"Why?" Her voice was barley a whisper.

Cameron ducked his head. He was still holding to one of the prescription bottles, and by now, his grip around it had tightened tenfold. Speaking felt like the equivalent of choking, now. The words hurt to get out. "Because  _I_ need to forgive him," he choked. Kay weakened at once. But his foundations were crumbling quicker. He looked at her and took in a sharp breath, trying but failing to keep his voice steady. "Because I need to forgive him," he repeated. "I need to forgive him, and I  _can't_  do that unless  _everyone else_  does it first. I can't do that unless everyone is willing to do the same thing." He shook his head. "But I  _need_  to forgive him, Kay. I want everything to go back to the way it was. I want everything to be  _normal_ again. I want everyone to be  _happy_ again. I want everyone back, so I don't have to rely on one person just to keep my sanity. Which isn't fair to you and which isn't healthy for me.

"I want my  _family_  back," he croaked. "And  _none_  of that can happen unless I forgive him."

Kay said nothing. She just stared at him, heartbroken and pained for a million different reasons. Her tears beginning to fall as she looked at Cameron and saw and remembered things he couldn't even begin to fathom. But he'd made his decision. He knew what he needed to do.

He knew what he  _wanted_ to do.

He swallowed hard. "I can't have my brother back unless I forgive him," he pressed.

She held his gaze. Before she ducked her head and looked down at the ground, still conflicted.

He felt a tug of desperation. A horrible kind of sinking feeling as he begged: "Can you help me?"

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan took the stairs two at a time, not even waiting for an elevator. He was tugging on his coat as he ran, tripping practically the entire way down to the lobby. Gunter wasn't back yet— he'd already gone out to the store when Jonathan's phone had buzzed. Not with a call, but with a text. Immediately, he'd whirled around and yanked it up to look at who it was, and his eyes had gotten about ten times bigger than normal when he'd seen Cameron's name. A million worries and thoughts had crowded through his head initially, but when he looked at the actual message, he was confused. It was short. Curt. Not usually the kind of texts Cameron sent. But the minimal words it did contain was what had him sprinting so fast and so clumsily downstairs.

'I'm outside.'

He was actually going to talk to him! Not even on a phone call, but in person. Jonathan was barely able to believe it, and maybe that was why he was running so fast. Why he barged past people to rush out of the hotel and why he skidded to a clumsy halt when he got outside. He was worried Cameron would change his mind if he didn't get there immediately. He was scared he'd get outside and see his brother had already left. It was freezing out, and it was almost seven. His thick coat did practically nothing against the cold. But Jonathan hardly felt it. All he felt was alarm as he looked around, trying to spot his brother in the people that were milling in and out of the front doors. Looking over valets and bellhops trying to spot the familiar face.

He couldn't see him.

Jonathan staggered, gasping for air. His face fell as he looked around and turned small circles, trying to spot his brother. He wasn't anywhere to be found. He started to wonder if he should try and call him. He probably wouldn't answer. Jonathan's call history could attest to it; every single number he'd called was Cam's. None of them but a couple had been picked up. But if he'd been here, then surely there was a  _reason?_ He'd answer if Jonathan called  _now,_ wouldn't he? The entire way down, though it had been short considering his speed, Jonathan had thought of everything he wanted to say to him. All the apologies, all the blame he was putting on himself and  _wanted_ Cameron to put on him as well. All of it was  _there,_ and he had to  _get it_ to Cameron somehow. He had to make this right, even though he knew it was impossible. He had to at least  _try_.

But if he wasn't  _here,_ then…then—

His frantic thoughts were broken as a car pulled up next to where he stood on the curb. He looked up from his phone, noticeably stricken. He didn't move, too confused and worried and disappointed and everything in between. The passenger side window rolled down, and Jonathan went rigid as he saw Cameron staring at him from the driver's seat. His eyes widened, and his arms fell limp to his sides. Cameron's eyes flashed; his expression was difficult to read. They stared at each other, neither of them saying anything at first. Blaringly loud between them was the last time they'd been together. It took every ounce of willpower in Jonathan not to look at his right arm.

The silence was deafening. Jonathan's mouth hung open, but everything he had to say was gone in the actual face of his brother. At the fact he was actually here, when he thought he'd gone. Maybe it was the situation, maybe it was his regret, maybe it was the fact they'd never been really  _separated_  like this for this long— even when he'd been in prison, Cameron had seen or talked to him more than now. Maybe it was because he knew whatever he had to say wouldn't take away Cam's pain. Whatever the reason, Jonathan's chest was tight as he stared at him; his eyes started to burn. Cameron seemed to register this; his expression weakened for the smallest amount of seconds.

Before he shook himself out of it, and his expression steeled over again. He leaned out and opened the door for his brother, considering he wasn't about to make a move to do it. And then he sat back in his own seat and looked front, putting his hands on the wheel and snapping: "Get in, loser, we're going shopping."


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much more planned for this chapter, but this hit 35 pages and I thought to myself: "....No." So I have to split this up, and have the other half of what I wanted be next chapter. In case you agree with me and find that this chapter is lacking in a certain panache. Which will throw off my whole plan for this story and end up making it longer but we're all dying slowly and it's four o clock in the morning right now so it doesn't even matter. I went through and edited but I always miss some stuff because I'm incompetent and half-asleep so if there are any glaring typos, if you'd point them out so very kindly I would so very much like to fix them.  
> I hope you like this chapter!!! (more than I do gkhggjdhs) And if you do, I hope to hear from you in a review!!! Cheer me up as I head into finals, I wanted to get this update out before I started drowning in tests. <3

_'The moon is right. The spirit's up. We're here tonight, and that's enough. Simply having a wonderful Christmas time. Simply having a wonderful Christmas time…'_

"What are we going to  _do_ for Christmas this year?" Cameron grumbled. "Last year Christmas  _sucked._ I mean— you were gone. So it didn't really have the same kind of… _fun."_ Jonathan said nothing. Cameron could feel his eyes drilling holes straight through him, but he tried not to notice. Or at least pretend like he didn't notice. "I think…I think that was the first holiday I'd ever… _not_ had with you, too…" His voice was weaker when he said this. Jonathan's face fell. For a moment he couldn't continue; he just stared out the windshield with a thoughtful frown. Before he shook himself. "Anyway," he blustered, voice noticeably stiffer. "Last year was depressing, and I sure as  _hell_ am  _not_ …having another depressing Christmas. Not  _this_  year." The declaration ended in a tiny sigh. A little more tired, than it was driven.

He fell silent. Leaving space. But Jonathan didn't fill it. His brother continued to just stare at him. Either stare at him, or down at his hands— one of those two. They'd been driving for fifteen minutes, and this was how it was going. Which was all well and good, but if Cameron wanted to sit in silence he could have done that at home. Jonathan wasn't making this easy. He was making it hard. Which he'd thought he'd prepared himself for, but now it was starting to get to him. The silence was insufferable; it grated against his nerves and it made his skin prickle. He  _hated_ silence, now. It was the worst thing in the world. So he kept trying to fill it with useless crap. He  _knew_ it was useless crap, but useless crap was better than nothing.

"How close is Christmas anyway?" he grumbled, practically talking to himself by this point. Because Jonathan didn't answer his question, he went ahead and took the job. "My days are all…they're all kinds of mixed up— the other day I thought it was _November_. Kay had to tell me Thanksgiving already happened." He tried to laugh this out. It sounded hollow. His smile turned frailer. But he sucked in a quick breath and went on, only betraying himself with the smallest of grimaces. "But— I mean, it's not my  _fault,"_  he tried. "The tree isn't up, the…house isn't decorated like it usually is. We haven't…I mean, I guess we haven't gotten around to it. We've…been— well, not  _busy,_ just…" He grimaced again, turning another corner.  _"Preoccupied."_  He said the word slowly, accentuating every syllable. Each one fell like rocks.

Jonathan looked away again.

They kept driving. It felt like it was hard to breathe. This wasn't going the way he'd wanted it to. On the inside, he was starting to worry; he was starting to weaken, and his foundations were getting unsteady. He was trying to keep himself composed on the outside. He thought he was doing a pretty good job. In comparison, at least. Driving helped, maybe— it gave him something else to focus on. But by this point, his hands shook a little bit whenever he shifted their hold on the wheel. It was glaringly obvious to him; he just hoped it wasn't the same for Jonathan. But something told him it was.

He sucked in another sharp breath. Shifted in his seat. "How close is it?" he repeated, wanting  _anything_ at this point. Even if it was an answer to a dumb question he could get just by glancing at his phone. But…at least it wasn't a total lie. He really  _was_ screwed up when it came to time. Not just days, either. Sometimes he just blinked, and four hours had suddenly gone by, and he had to concentrate to remember what had even  _happened_  in the gap. Sometimes six hours passed, and he looked at the clock to see it had actually only been fifteen minutes. "I don't even know what  _day_ it is— it's Wednesday…right?"

Jonathan was silent for what seemed like forever. Cameron glanced at him but had to look away again when he saw how pained his brother looked. He'd just gotten rid of that look on Kay and Dina's faces, and here it was back on his brother's. He'd have to start all over again. He was quieter than normal when he corrected: "It's…it's Saturday. Cameron."

He jerked.  _That_ wasn't right— he went to therapy every Monday and Friday; he hadn't had a session yesterday… _had_  he? What had they talked about? He made a face, more confused than worried. The car was silent for about a full minute. Which was a  _lot_  longer than it seemed when nothing was happening. Until he managed a tiny: "Oh." Jonathan was watching him closely; he felt a sting of embarrassment. He swallowed and just redirected his attention back on the road. "Well." Jonathan's shoulders were hunching as he picked up on his self-consciousness. Cameron cleared his throat and sighed: "I was  _close."_

Nothing followed this for another long stretch of time. There was more silence, and there was more tension for Cameron to suffocate on. His heart was getting heavier and beating faster, and he was shifting more and more in his seat. Jonathan was staring down at the floor of the car, now. He did speak, eventually. But it wasn't anything Cameron wanted at all. "Cameron…" He roused, but didn't look at him. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was cowardly, but he didn't want to look at his brother. And he had the perfect excuse not to, with the road in front of him. Johnny sounded absolutely miserable and exhausted. Like a whole different person. "Cameron…I'm so sorry," he choked. Already, his voice was getting thicker.

Cameron did nothing, at first. He just kept driving. Until he murmured a softer: "I'm sorry too." Jonathan looked at him again, his expression rife with unimaginable pain. Before it was wiped completely when Cameron went on to declare: "Because you know what I just realized? Just this second? We live in New York City, and we never once caught the Cash Cab." Jonathan jerked, making a face. The heavy sorrow left only to be replaced with confusion. Cameron continued, refusing to acknowledge this. " _Everyone else_  did— and they weren't even good at it.  _We_ would have been good on Cash Cab. Now it's gone." He shook his head mournfully. Muttered under his breath: "Now the Cash Cab is gone."

 _This_  silence was only more tolerable because of how familiar it was. It was the kind of silence Jonathan gave whenever Cameron used to say something ridiculous, or completely off-topic, or when he would give out ideas for tricks that were completely life-endangering. The expression he wore was the same, too. That befuddlement, and that subtle 'What the hell are you talking about?' that might have offended anyone else, but what Cameron had learned to equate as affection, after being fixated with it for so many years. In that split second, it was the same look Jonathan always shot him. The same stunned silence.

And Cameron was completely caught off-guard by how _happy_  it made him to have back.

He struggled to keep it. Shrugged one shoulder. "I mean, yeah, you would refuse to use any of our shout-outs because you're way too stubborn to admit you need other people's help, so we might have lost a couple. But you're always reading  _books,_ so I would hope at least  _some_ info you got from those would help you in your life. And not just help make you a boring stick in the mud." Jonathan tried to say something, but Cameron was rushing to keep talking before he could. "And I have a great personality, so they would definitely take us. And I'd get all the…questions about pop-culture because I actually pay attention to the world around me. Sometimes." He paused before he amended: "Except not  _now,_  because I thought it was Wednesday."

"Cameron."

The flatness of his name made him wince. He couldn't hide it.

Jonathan weakened at the visceral reaction. But he still moved to press: "Cameron…I don't think…" Jonathan had to take in a slow breath and steel himself before he could go on. His voice was strained and choked. He didn't  _want_ to let the words out. But he knew that he  _needed_ to. "I don't think we should do this," he said slowly. Cameron said nothing. His lips pressed tighter together. Jonathan went on, keeping that painstaking pace. "We shouldn't…pretend nothing happened. We shouldn't ignore it." Ages seemed to pass in the following five seconds of silence. Before he cemented weakly: "We have to talk about everything. We can't just shove it under the rug."

"I'm not shoving it under the rug." His voice was duller, now. All the lightness he'd had before was gone. The look on his face was pained. More honest. Which was a good thing…but also a bad thing at the same time. Jonathan was silent; he was waiting for him to continue. He did, but it was with noticeable difficulty. "I'm not shoving anything under the rug. I  _know_  it doesn't work. But I also know—" He had to stop, before his voice crumbled out from underneath itself. He cleared his throat and took in a deeper breath. His brother watched every part of this struggle with unbearable suffering.

"But I also know…that I missed you." Cameron's voice was so small you could hold it in your hands. Tiny, and weak, and the edges of his words were beginning to shake. He was trying not to let his lips do the same thing. Trying to calm down and not blink, because that way he might avoid crying. Though he was so well-versed in crying by this point, that he could tell just how close he was to it. He'd thought this'd be easier. Oh well. "I know that I missed you for a long time. So I…I just… _want_ this…for a little bit." Jonathan's shoulders curled inward, like he was buckling underneath some kind of pain. Cameron knew the feeling. "I just want things to be the way they  _were_ …just for  _now._

"I don't want to make it seem like nothing happened. Because it  _did."_ He paused, biting on the inside of his cheek. Before he shook his head. "And we're  _going_  to talk about it. Because…if we  _don't_  talk about it, nothing is going to get fixed." Each word was separate and purposeful. Like he was reciting them from memory, because he was. He'd thought a lot about what he wanted to say, and he'd thought of every which way to  _say_ it. He took in another trembling breath before he forced out, in his best attempt at steadying his voice as he could make: "But we're going to talk about it when  _I_ want to talk about it. And  _how_ I decide I want to." He didn't dare even  _glance_ in Jonathan's direction. Didn't dare blink, or speak too loudly and help his voice to break even more. "Until then…everything has been so… _fucked up_ for so  _long,_ I just…"

Another heavy pause. A suffocating one. Before: "I just want my brother back. For a while…"

Jonathan sat with this, like he'd sat with everything else. Digested it like it was some huge thing he had to separate into tiny bites in order not to choke on. In the newfound silence, Cameron's small sniff wasn't as subtle as he wanted it to be. He kept staring ahead. At the road. Not wanting to see what Jonathan was doing. He was only waiting for his response, if he'd give one at all. He was starting to fear he wouldn't. Starting to doubt himself and his judgement on how the situation should have been handled. But then Jonathan replied, and again, Cameron was hit over the head with relief that hearing his voice caused. Sheer, bone-shaking relief that he didn't have to listen to that horrible silence anymore.

Immeasurable happiness when Jonathan replied with a solemn: "Okay."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"Okay…but…do you remember step eight?"

"Step…step eight— that's the one…I…"

Cameron hung his head and sighed, and then looked back at him with the face of a teacher that was trying to be patient. "Look— and I'm only telling you this because obviously I care about your well-being and I wish nothing more than for you to succeed in life. But you…are not good at this. You're actually very bad. You're horrible." Sawyer's face fell; he looked from him, to the paper but said nothing. Cameron put a hand on his shoulder – he tensed and looked down at it when he did – and he smiled encouragingly. "I'm sure there are things in life you excel at; I'm sure there's a list, and I'm sure it's extensive, and I'm sure it's got some  _pretty_  impressive things on there." He held his gaze, getting nowhere because that same look just stared right back at him. Without breaking eye contact, however, Cameron leaned out and stabbed his finger repeatedly down on his paper before offering quietly, like it was a secret: "However, this specific skillset would not make it onto that list."

Sawyer said nothing; he just kept staring at him like he was holding a knife to a puppy.

"But…c'mon, chin up," Cameron declared, knowing for a fact he wouldn't. Something told him getting Sawyer to smile was gonna be as likely as him telling Kay he was smarter than her and not having her immediately die from laughter. The thought was innocent and sarcastic – like most of his tended to be – but the moment Kay crossed his mind, his expression was weakening. He felt a tiny twist in his stomach. So he cleared his throat and shook his head, moving on. "Escaping prison isn't an everyday skill you need in order to succeed and live life to the fullest.  _Usually_." Immediately, Sawyer was jerking, even before Cameron could finish. His eyes widened a bit at his hasty shush. He looked around, in case Sawyer saw something he didn't, but there wasn't anyone there. This entire time, and the library had been empty.

"Nobody's—" Whatever he was about to say died on his tongue when he looked back. At how nervous and on-edge Sawyer looked. Cameron could be snarky to a lot of people, but he couldn't be snarky to someone like this. He just smiled again, and shook his head. "Sorry." Sawyer wilted, but he did relax a little bit more. He looked back at the paper in Cameron's hands. The step-by-step directions that multitasked as a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card. Cameron had the full capability to use it for himself, but he was sliding it over to Sawyer, who, in his opinion, had been stuck in this corner of the board for way too long.

"It's alright," Cameron said dismissively, shaking his head and extending the paper out to him. Sawyer just stared at it. Cameron moved it a bit closer. "You don't have to memorize it, I know it's complicated…it was just in case you lost it along the way." He waited for him to take it. He never did. Cameron's arm was going a little numb. "Take it," he encouraged, and Sawyer did a double-take, as if they  _hadn't_  been sitting here for the last  _hour_  discussing this, Cameron going over each thing he needed to do in excruciating detail. He'd had plenty of plans to get his brother out of jail— this was the easiest one and the one that didn't take as much effort.

It was the least fun one, in other words. But he had a feeling the 'least fun one' was more in Sawyer's lane anyway.

Apparently, Sawyer forgot how to use his arms. Cameron started to eye him warily. "Do you…have a question…or…?"

"Why are you doing this for me?"

Cameron blinked a couple times, and he let his arm fall. It wasn't exactly what he'd meant when he'd said 'question.' Sawyer didn't exactly look back up at him. It took a second for him to find his footing. "I mean…I don't know." But that was a lie. He did. And there was another pause, but he eventually coughed it up, his expression clouding. "I haven't been able to help a lot of people. I've tried…I've tried really hard, but…I made mistakes. Nothing worked, and I just…I can help you, so I want to help you." He regained his smile with the declaration. Sawyer looked at him at last, but he still looked a little cautious. Cameron's grin turned a bit gentler when he added: "I mean, I'd want someone to help me. So."

Sawyer's shoulders hunched.

Cameron's eyes flickered to the bruise that was on his face. "'Cause I don't think anyone deserves whatever it is that's happening to you," he added, quieter. His shoulders hunched even more. Cameron held the paper out closer to him, giving it a tiny shake, to make sure he had his attention. "You don't have to take it," he reasoned. "But…I think you should. And I think you think you should too. I promise it's fool-proof. If you do everything like I wrote down on there, you'll be home free, I swear. And— listen, even if by some tiny little chance you do get caught, they won't send you back here. They'll probably send you to another prison." Sawyer's eyes flashed, with this. "And…yeah, the security might be tougher, and you might get a little bit of a longer sentence, but…" He let it hang for a moment. Before he shrugged. "It's up to you. It's whatever you want to do."

Again, his eyes flashed. He stared for quite some time. Until he took the paper from Cameron, and Cameron's smile came back full-swing. He was about to say something else, something to break the tension, because it was starting to get to him a little bit, when Sawyer spoke up again, a little bit of that doubt and hesitation crawling back over his face and into his voice. "But…I just…he might—…" He looked back up at Cameron, who was staring at him with his eyebrows raised, expectant. Sawyer grimaced. He shifted, and reached up to rub his forehead. "He won't be happy…"

Cameron snorted, turning and slouching back more against the wall. "I don't think he's a ray of sunshine as it is; ten bucks says no one'll notice the difference."

Sawyer looked from him to the plan, more at a loss. Eventually he blurted out: "Come with me."

Cameron perked. The way he did, Sawyer could have just as easily said something along the lines of 'I saw a unicorn on Friday that proceeded to immediately turn into a narwhal. It left me a pot of gold.' "What?" He frowned, shaking his head. "You don't need me; you'll be able to pull it off," he encouraged, not understanding. "It's easy, I even made sure to include—"

"N— come with me and just leave with me," Sawyer explained. It almost sounded like a plead.

Cameron straightened, with the clarification. He hesitated. He glanced over out to the rest of the library, like he was checking if the coast was clear. But it was only because his mind was wandering. He… _could_. He very well could. And it wouldn't even be the same for him because he truly wasn't supposed to be here. He got out, and they couldn't possibly bring him back in, because he wasn't Jonathan. He could get out and he could run back to the archive and he could tell everyone what happened. He could see Dina and them again, and Kay…he  _could_.

But…

"No…my brother's here." The words sounded just a bit hollow. Sawyer's face fell. His doubt only tripled. Cameron found not looking at him made it a little easier to get it all out. His throat felt a little tighter than it had three seconds ago. "I can't leave; he's…he's supposed to come soon." He couldn't give Jonathan away. He couldn't betray him like that. He had to stay here, just for a little bit longer. He regained the strength behind his smile and he turned to look at him again with more self-assured nod. "You go," he said. "I have to stay. But don't worry; I'll be fine."

He kept looking from him to the paper. Like he was trying to find their connection. Like it wasn't adding up. His hold tightened on the list. Seeing all this, Cameron tacked on: "So will you." Sawyer looked back at him; this time the expression on his face somehow seemed even more injured. Cameron felt compelled to keep reassuring him. "Look…whatever it was you did to get here…you've more than paid for it," he reasoned. "Okay?"

He leaned over – Sawyer leaned just a little bit away from him when he did – to tap the paper he was holding. "This'll get you out," he swore. "You go somewhere far away, and you never have to come back here." He didn't really  _care_  what Sawyer had done. He didn't look like he could shove a kid over on the playground, much less pull off some grand-scale murder or bank robbery. And all the emotions that were on his face – all the regret, all the sorrow, all the exhaustion, all the pain – was all the evidence Cameron needed to know that this was the right thing to do. His smile got even softer, layering over with sympathy. "You can start over."

Sawyer began to smile. Began to  _actually_  smile.

They sat there together for a few long moments. Like they were friends just passing the time. And Cameron was going to be an optimistic and say they were friends at this point. Friends helped break friends out of prison…wasn't that how the saying went? But looking at him, and seeing his grin now, Cameron felt a small pull in his stomach. There was a long pause. He felt the sudden urge…just so  _someone_ knew… "Hey…" Sawyer perked, and Cameron just wilted more when the other's smile stayed put this time.

He hesitated again. Glanced at his hands and grimaced. "Sawyer, I…I should tell you…I'm…not—"

They both looked up at the same time at a sound from somewhere up ahead. Sawyer immediately moved to peek out between the shelf in front of them. He jerked back quick. That anxiety was back. "Someone came in," he hissed. Cameron didn't really see the point in worrying about it; it was the only area in this place that wasn't horribly depressing— he'd come in here too. But Sawyer looked ready to have a mental breakdown again, and it was getting late anyway. There wasn't a real point in fighting.

He started to get up. Sawyer got even more frantic. Cameron couldn't win. But he flashed him an encouraging grin. "Hey— you'll be fine," he whispered. "Just follow the list." Sawyer looked back down at it. "It'll be really easy. You'll be fantastic." Cameron's smile turned more teasing as he said farewell with a lighthearted: "I'd better not see you again for the rest of my life."

He started to turn and duck away. When Sawyer hissed: "W-Wait!"

Cameron stopped, looking back and raising his eyebrows.

Sawyer was still sitting on the ground. When he looked up at him, he was sad again. But it was a different kind of sad. A regretful one, like he was sorry to see him go. And Cameron perked with a little surprise when Sawyer murmured softly: "Thank you…Jonathan."

His chest ripped with unexpected pain. He weakened. Said nothing for a long moment, as he just stared at the relief and gratitude that Sawyer was fixing him with. Feeling his throat constrict. Staying mute. Until he forced a smile on his face. "You're welcome," he returned. And only stayed long enough to see Sawyer's grin widen one last time, before he turned and rushed away. Keeping his head down because it's what he probably should have been doing this whole time. Wishing that he could have at least let Sawyer know it was him…but figuring there wasn't a point.

Against himself, beginning to crack a smile…because for the first time in what felt like a  _very_  long time, he'd done something good…

"Cameron?"

He jerked, blinking a couple times he looked up. Like he was shaken out of a stupor, or woken from a dream. Jonathan was sitting across from him, concern and worry heavy on his face. Cameron shifted, sitting up a little straighter and burning with that self-consciousness that had seemed to make a full-blown comeback, now. He'd shaken it a little bit. When he'd first gotten home, it had been  _everywhere._ He couldn't even  _move_  without burning with shame, because it hurt so much to, and he understood  _why_ it did. When he couldn't bring himself to even look at Kay, because whenever he did, he couldn't even breathe around the embarrassment choking him that she was seeing him the way he was.

It had leaked away little by little. Sometimes he would still feel its sting, and he would weaken, but it wasn't nearly as often. He didn't stiffen or wince when Kay hugged him or pulled him close in bed, feeling  _guilty_ that she even had to  _touch_ him. He felt better, with her. Dina had stopped looking at him like he was an injured puppy— or at least, she was doing a better job of hiding the fact that she still was. It was just easier to function. He'd shaken off that shame. But it was back now, apparently, with Jonathan. Which Cameron wasn't exactly a fan of, if he was being perfectly honest. He could feel his face burn as he sat up more in the chair. And he was quick to look away as he cleared his throat.

"Sorry, I was just—" He blinked a couple times, trying to tug himself together. "I just, uh…" He looked down at the table and crossed his arms over the edge of it. "I just realized I owe someone ten dollars." He got himself to look back up; Jonathan was eyeing him a little warily. He could practically see the concern in his eyes— could see how much it was taking to get himself not to voice it all aloud. Cameron just hoped he wouldn't.

He didn't know why he'd gotten distracted in the first place…or even how long he'd been staring off into space. He'd look at the clock, but he hadn't known the time it was when they'd sat down so it wouldn't help. Coming back into it all, though, Cameron inhaled a little sharply and shifted with a tiny grimace at how crowded the restaurant was. He didn't really notice how unaccustomed he was to actually being 'out and about' until he tried it again. For months, now, he'd holed away inside the archive. He was used to only having a couple people there for company, that was what he  _preferred_  now. Less crowded, less suffocating, less noisy.

Being here now…was extremely uncomfortable. He felt like everyone was staring, talking, whispering, looking at every little detail, wondering about what was going on. They'd purposefully been put in a table more in the empty part of the restaurant. But still, the anxiety wouldn't leave. And every time the waitress came over to them, he was staring resolutely at any place other than her. He was doing his best to try and not show apprehension. He liked to think he was doing an okay job, but considering he'd just apparently spaced out again, maybe it wasn't too impressive.

"Why do you owe someone—?" Jonathan's question was cut off when Cameron's phone buzzed. He jumped in a little bit of surprise, before he turned, exhaling with relief at the well-timed interruption. But seeing the notification, he sighed, and put it away again without replying.

"We have to pick something up on the way back," Cameron offered, his voice still that unnatural quiet it always seemed to be, now. The… _new_ natural…maybe. "Kay thinks I'm at Target right now."

Jonathan weakened. Only a fraction, outwardly. "Why?"

Cameron offered a grin. "'Cause I told Kay I was going to Target," he chirped. It didn't get the reaction he thought it would. Any other time, and Jonathan probably would have snickered, or at least rolled his eyes. Now, he just stared at him with the tiniest hint of desolation. Something that would have been much worse, probably, had Cameron not specifically asked him to be normal. His smile fell away and he shook his head. "I'm just kidding; she knows what I'm doing." He looked back down and picked up the still-steaming cup of coffee in front of him. He took another sip, wincing a little at how bitter it was. Made a face and set it back down with a whispered: " _That's_ why she won't stop _texting_  me."

Jonathan watched him, tracking the cup like he was intent on mapping its exact travel. That pain was still there on his face. Silence was uncomfortable between them for a long moment. Jonathan opened and closed his mouth a couple times, apparently never able to really discern what he wanted to say. Cameron saw this, but he said nothing. Eventually Jonathan managed to get something out. He was trying to keep his voice tactfully nonchalant. He didn't do all that great a job, but at least he was trying. "How's she doing?" Another hesitation, before: "Are…are you two…?"

It was a little awkward. When it shouldn't have been. When they've always told each other everything, suddenly the simplest of questions was now unsure. But it was the subject of the question that made it easier. Cameron softened. He grinned, and it was a genuine grin, and Jonathan was immediately smacked with a sudden and intense burst of something far too close to pain at the sight. "Yeah," Cameron murmured, fondness layering over his voice. "She…she told me loves me." The pained happiness on Jonathan's face, so obvious before, only grew ten times as much so. "No idea why," he laughed. "But…yeah." His words were soft as down when he murmured: "She makes me really happy."

"That's good." Jonathan's voice was thick. Cameron looked back up at him, and Jonathan's smile grew. "That's  _great_ , Cam. I'm…I'm really happy for you." He added quieter: "Kay…she cares a lot about you." Cameron's smile weakened just a little. Jonathan's did, too. "I could tell. When I was there, she…I saw the way she looked at you. And…the way she…" He trailed off, unable to finish. Cameron was good at filling in blanks, by this point, though. He weakened when he saw the look that was crawling over Jonathan's face.

He started to speak, choosing his words with great care. "Jonathan, she…" His brother was the one to look down this time; he already knew what was coming, but he didn't interrupt. Which was good, because this was hard enough as it was. But Cameron had said it himself— they were going to talk about things when he wanted to, and how he wanted to. This was…as good a first step as they were going to get. "She  _means_ …well, I know she…maybe she's not being  _fair,_  but—"

Jonathan's objection was nothing more than a mumble. "I don't think she's being unfair."

He stopped short, a little surprised. "You…you don't?"

He shook his head once.

Cameron stared at him for almost ten full seconds in silence. During all of which Jonathan kept his gaze down. There were about a million things running through his head, but Cameron decided it would just be easiest to pick back up again. He had something in mind to say, and he had it planned, and if he didn't get the chance to get it out, he didn't know when or how he would say it later. "Kay just…I don't know all of…what she  _saw,_ but…I mean— she  _got_ me out, in the first place, so she…" Jonathan's shoulders were curling inward. Cameron looked down at his coffee again, because he didn't want to stop and see whether or not his eyes were tearing up. He kept his voice as steady as possible. Making himself sound overly factual, because then it might be easier to keep it in check. "And that…night I called you the— the second time, I called her after, and I have  _no_ idea what I said then, because I didn't remember  _any_ of what I said to you."

It felt almost strange to have this apathetic tone of voice when he was discussing the things that he was, but he was starting to realize he preferred it. He tried to distract himself by counting all the little bubbles on the surface of his drink. Maybe if he focused on something else, the words would come out easier. On their own. "And…I mean…the point  _is_ , she's just seen me the most. When I was bad. When I  _am._ Bad. More than Gunter, more than Jordan, more than Dina, even. I mean, I didn't want her to— I tried to push her away, I didn't want her to see me like…" His forehead creased a bit. He skipped ahead with a tiny shake of the head. "But she was the one who… _helped_  the most. So…I mean, what I'm  _trying_ to say," he was trying not to be  _everywhere_ in this, but he was failing a bit, "is that she just…has a harder time. Forgetting those times, I think. And that's all she thinks of. And that's why she's…the way she is, you know?"

It was a while before Jonathan replied. His voice was just a small mutter. "I understand."

His heart twisted when he saw how sad Jonathan seemed. How sober. This time, he held his brother's stare. "But…I told her she needed to forgive you." Immediately, he saw shock slap itself across his face. He saw Jonathan's eyes go wide, saw him start to sit a little straighter. Cameron kept on. "I told her she needed to let everything go…and that it might be hard, but it was what I wanted, and it would be what…would help. From here on out. And…and she wasn't very happy, at first, but…she's coming around to it. It might just be hard for her for a while. I don't…think you should blame her too much, for it, though…and hopefully…" He trailed off, letting Jonathan fill in the blanks.

Though the biggest blank just seemed to be on his  _face,_ right now. Jonathan was staring at him, not knowing what to say. Cameron crossed his arms on the table again. Subconsciously tugged his right sleeve down, even though it was already to his wrist. There were too many emotions at once to take stock of. It was like a grab-bag of everything. Eventually, his brother stuttered out: "You…you told her to— forgive me?"

He tried to smile and make it as unhindered as he could. "I mean—  _yeah_ ," he said, very simply. Like it was obvious. "But it wasn't like I was… _dismissing_ her feelings, I just wanted to ask if—"

"Do  _you_ forgive me?" Jonathan cut him off. Though his voice was only a whisper, it rendered Cameron mute.

Now it was his turn to be shocked. He sat back in his chair, blinking about a hundred times a minute. He could read his brother's expression, now: it was desperation. Or something very close to it. He wasn't expecting the question. Not so suddenly, and not with this little warning. Jonathan had taken a difficult, complicated concept, and just hit him with it like it was a baseball bat and Cameron was a robber that was crawling through his window. He only stared at him blankly, his mouth a little open, but no words coming out. Jonathan didn't dare repeat himself. But he  _did_ keep staring at him. Waiting, barely even breathing. Tearing up, and noticeably now.

Cameron scrounged for something to say. For anything to say.

No— no, not  _anything._

He was scrounging for the  _truth._

But that was  _complicated_.  _Really_  complicated. That was why he was asking everyone else to forgive him  _first._  So  _he_  could figure out what to do,  _himself_. His mouth was dry as he just stared at him. And a million different things were rushing through his head, going too fast to register. Somehow, he did anyway.  _'No, I don't wanna talk to you.' 'I would keep walking if I were you.' 'We?' 'Someone should teach you a lesson.' 'The answer's no.' 'How's that for a memento?' 'He said…it wasn't the reason why he left at first. But…he_ did _get it.' 'You're not in charge here. And you'll take what I give you.' 'I wasn't thinking, Cameron, I wasn't.' 'Come on, magician…why can't you escape?' 'There's no excuse for what I did.'_

His silence was longer than he'd intended it to be. And the longer the hesitation stretched, the more Jonathan weakened. The more desolate he became. Cameron's mouth stayed open, he kept trying to fumble for words. Any words, at this point— he'd take anything other than the radio silence. But before he could, the waitress was coming back. At her cheerful voice, Cameron was practically falling out his chair, he jumped so much. Her greeting was cut short because of this, and her eyes went a little big. "Oh— I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you!" she giggled, and Cameron shook his head, waving her off and hunching a little more over the table. "Have you decided what you wanted yet?"

Jonathan said something— Cameron wasn't paying attention. That is, until he realized they were both staring at him. He cleared his throat and shook his head, offering her a smile. "I'm fine with just the coffee— thanks."

Jonathan frowned. He waited until she walked away before he asked: "You're not getting anything?"

Cameron was thankful for the change in topic. Marginally. "Ah— no, I'm fine."

"Why did we come here, then?" Jonathan asked.

" _You_ haven't had anything— or you said you hadn't."

"So  _you_ had something? Earlier?"

"No, I'm just not hungry right now," Cameron answered.

Which was probably the wrong choice. He should have just said yes. Because immediately Jonathan was looking up and down, and again Cameron felt that distinct sense of embarrassment. He was practically burning from the inside out, by this point. He tried to distract himself by moving to mess with his napkin. But his eyes still flashed when Jonathan asked: "Are you eating, Cameron?" He didn't know how much weight he'd lost. He never wanted to step on a scale and see the number. But judging the fact he had to tighten his belts far past their usual loop, or how much baggier all his shirts seemed to feel on him, it couldn't be very good.

When Cameron didn't answer, he pressed: "Cam, what've you eaten today?"

He felt like a kid being patronized or scolded. He almost didn't want to answer, simply out of spite. But he caved. "I had…" What  _had_ he eaten today? Again, he probably should have lied. He wasn't all that smart anymore. "I had…some crackers," he finally recalled. He  _had—_ it was difficult to find something that sounded good or tasted good, anymore. Saltine crackers were so  _tasteless_ to begin with, there was no downhill with them. And it wasn't like it was a tiny sleeve, it was actually a pretty big one.

But Jonathan wasn't impressed. "…That's it?" he prompted, when Cameron fell silent.

"That's all she wrote," Cameron hummed, still fiddling with the napkin.

His brother deflated, that pain coming back full-swing. Mentally, Cameron was warning him not to, but apparently, he wasn't a very good mind-reader. "Cam— you have to eat more than that." Cameron said nothing, not even looking up. "You should get something else— even if it's something small; it'd be better than nothing. You could get…an appetizer, or…you could even get dessert! Just something else so you just didn't eat…crackers for the whole day."

"I don't want anything else."

"Why not?" Cameron made a face, but tried to keep it to himself. His hands started to shake just a little as he folded his napkin and unfolded it again. Trying to line the corners up perfectly. "Cameron, you can't just have coffee and crackers, you…you don't look  _healthy,_ you should just—"

"I'm fine," he objected softly.

"But you're  _not,_ you're—"

He suddenly sat up, looking down harder at the table, with almost a glare. His voice was louder and it had the smallest bit of edge to it when he just said almost forcefully: "Jonathan,  _that_ is what I eat, now." Jonathan went silent at once. Cameron didn't look up for his reaction, but he did keep going. However, once he did, his voice gradually lost its edge, and its brief volume. "I can't  _eat_ …a lot of stuff, or all at once— I am  _trying_ to get better, but it is very  _hard,_ and I  _don't_ expect you to  _understand_ but I  _do_ expect you not to yell at me for it, or get onto me for it."

Silence followed this. Cameron was glaring at the table, more out of self-consciousness than anything else. Eventually, Jonathan managed a tiny: "You're right." Cameron began to relax, but hesitantly. "…You're right, I'm sorry," Jonathan whispered, taking after his brother and looking down as well. Cameron glanced up at him, and his stomach clenched when he saw the look that was on his brother's face. At how weighted-down he seemed, at how forlorn. He didn't look like his brother at all. It was like a stranger was sitting across from him, right now.

…He had to wonder whether or not Jonathan felt the exact same way about him.

His eyes were quick to go back down. He found he couldn't stomach the sight for very long. Eventually, Cameron closed his eyes and forced out the thing he had been holding back this entire time. Feeling like a weight in the pit of his stomach, but never really being able to scrounge together the courage to force it out. And it wasn't like he had the courage  _now._  But somehow, here it was. "You can tell me, you know. Jonathan." It was barely a whisper. For some reason that he couldn't really define, guilt was beginning to burn through his skin. His hands clenched in his lap. "You can tell me she told you," he mumbled. Jonathan didn't move a single muscle. Didn't even blink. Cameron pressed: "I won't tell her you did. But…Kay told you…didn't she?"

A complete hour passed in silence. Sixty whole minutes.

Or…at least, that's what it felt like.

Cameron eventually had to look up. Despite the extreme difficulty. Jonathan's face was expressionless; there was nothing to see. It took him some time. But Cameron received the reply he'd known he would get. "I don't know what you're talking about." His voice was as quiet as Cameron's. Cameron's heart sank. Jonathan stuck with it. "Kay didn't tell me anything. Except that you got hurt."

They were the  _same_ exact words he'd given him the first time he had asked this question.

Because they were practiced words.

Prepared. And  _rehearsed._

"You don't have to lie for her," he forced out. Still, nothing much above a murmur. "I'm not going to be mad. I could never be mad at her…not even for that. It...might…" He had to swallow, which was difficult, considering how dry his mouth suddenly was. "It might even be…easier…this way," he managed. Jonathan simply stared at him, blank. He had the best poker face. He'd always had the best poker face. Cameron just never imagined the fact would matter so much in a situation like this. He took in a slow breath and proposed after some hesitation: "You don't have to tell me if it was her…but you  _do_ have to tell me if you know." Maybe he was being cowardly himself, in not wanting to be absolutely sure whether it had been her. But all the same, he needed at least this. "You owe me that much."

It was probably another hour of silence. Of staring at each other, each of them searching the other's gaze, absolutely terrified of what they were going to find waiting in their expression. The two of them separated only about a foot on opposite sides of the table, but suddenly coming to the realization that miles existed between them. Like, despite the fact they had existed at one another's side their entire lives, had seen everything the other had seen, been through everything the other had been through, they were suddenly strangers, and couldn't be further apart. Because that was the case, now.

After everything…that was the case.

For a heart-stopping moment, Cameron was worried Jonathan would continue to reject him. Keep with the bluff that Cameron wasn't believing for a single second. But he didn't. He answered, and his voice was soft, like he didn't even want to give life to the confirmation in the first place. And though he'd known it would come, the singular word hit him like a punch to the stomach. "Yes."

He'd expected this answer. But still, he had to fight not to cringe. He felt like the word was grabbing a spotlight and yanking it over so it glared down on him and him alone, highlighting everything wrong with him, everything that was different. Signaling him out and  _making_ him different. And doing it permanently now, because now there wasn't a single question as to what the source of Jonathan's pain was. His sorrow and regret and misery, as he looked at him. Cameron's throat was tight. He said nothing for a very long time. He was burning under his brother's stare. An ant under a magnifying glass.

"…okay," Cameron whispered, after what felt like years. Good. This was good. It was one less thing— one less thing to talk about, and it was the hardest thing to talk about at the same time, so this was good. Now he didn't have to explain it, because apparently it had already been explained by someone else. Which was good, because how would he have even begun to explain? He couldn't have. It would have been too hard, he couldn't have done it, so this was good. He was glad it was like this, he was glad someone else had done it for him, he was glad they'd made that decision, he was glad it was off his shoulders now, he was glad Jonathan knew, he was glad his brother knew exactly what had happened to him and when and how and now he just didn't have to explain it now it was all out there and it could never be taken back and Cameron couldn't even be sure who had put it out there but they had and now it was good because—

His eyes were burning. He looked off to the side, down at the ground, because that was the only direction he could stare to avoid pity. And he mumbled under his breath again, a little thicker: "Okay."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**) (~**~)

After that, conversation was even sparser. Cameron didn't  _want_  it to be that way. But it was. He knew the look his brother wore; he knew the way he looked at him, and he could read all the thoughts he was keeping back, because it was the same for everyone else that  _did_ know. He'd known Jonathan knew. But maybe some part of him just hoped that his brother would be different. Not that there was a reason to think so. He should have known it would be worse with him. Amplified. The shame. The sorrow. The discomfort. Not only because of that fact of the…well,  _situation._ For lack of a better word. But  _because_ it was his brother. Because they used to be so close. Because so many things had gone wrong, it was impossible to fathom anymore.  _That_ was why this was so terrible.

Jonathan wasn't hungry anymore. Which was another thing he should have thought about. His brother was just staring down at his food, the ghost of a wince on his face. The silence was tense and it was choking, and worst of all, it was allowing Cameron the quiet his mind needed to grab at the thread of his determination and begin to pull and tug. Unravel the entire thing. Go from worrying about how his brother saw him now, to worrying about how he had been told, to worrying about how much he knew, to worrying that this was the wrong thing to do, to worrying he was messing it up, to worrying this was all a mistake, to remembering past mistakes, to remembering Sawyer's proposal, and  _why hadn't he just taken it, if he'd just_ taken  _it, none of this would have happened and everything would be fine and he'd been so stupid to say no and he'd deserved it for being so_ stupid _and he'd deserved the way they—_

Cameron had pushed away from the table and muttered a small: "I'll be right back." That had been almost fifteen minutes ago. He'd gone to the bathroom, chosen a stall, and locked himself away in it.

Now he was just sitting against the wall, hunched over in nausea as he waited to throw up. He knew it was coming— he  _felt_  it, and by this point he was unfortunately an expert in being able to tell, just like he was about crying. Mostly whenever it happened, it was in the morning…just a little bit after he woke up. Mostly after nightmares. Sometimes it happened after he had 'an episode', which was what his therapist liked to call it, but what made him think of Days of Our Lives, and therefore deterred him immensely. Or it happened at times like now— when he was overthinking and overstressing and bordering on the  _edge_ of an episode. On the  _very_  far borders, just struggling not to succumb to it. To block everything else out and regulate his breathing and just try not to think.

Which was  _so_ hard.

He ducked his head and held it in his hands. His legs were curled tight to his chest, and he was angled towards the toilet, shaking more and more with every passing minute but for some reason not getting sick yet. He couldn't do this. Not here, not with Jonathan— he had to get over it. Get past this. He had to throw up. He  _wanted_ to be sick, he felt like if he got sick he would feel so much  _better,_ if he'd—  _He was choking, gagging and crying and screaming against the hand that was clamping his mouth closed. He tried to thrash, to break free, to whip his head to the side and out of their grip, but it wasn't working— someone was pinning his arms behind his back, someone was forcing him to stay kneeled, someone was holding his head, and growling over his screeching: "I said_ all  _of it."_

He took in a fast gasp, scooting closer to the toilet as he bit down on a tiny gag. He was starting to feel dizzy, even though he wasn't even moving. He felt hot and cold at the same time, and his breathing was hitching every so often. He had a checklist for when – and this was the term  _he_ wanted to use, which his therapist had very clearly disapproved of, but  _whatever_ – every single thing there was to go wrong went to absolute  _shit_ , and currently he was doing a very good job of checking them all off. He knew he had to calm down, and he was doing an okay job of at least not getting  _worse_. But he didn't know how long it would last.

Blindly, he reached down, fumbling for his phone. He eventually found it but his hands were shaking so much that he dropped it. He flinched away from the clatter, and looked down at himself in alarm— at his hands that were trembling so much he couldn't even—  _He screwed his eyes shut, his back arched, he wailed against the tape that had been forced back on his mouth, pain burning through him like an inferno as his hand was stomped on again and again and again. The only response to his incoherent screams – quickly fading into dazed and numbed mumbles instead – was laughter, and renewed force behind each blow, more delight in stabbing the toe of the shoe down hard and twisting sharply. His screams amounted to nothing, anymore, he couldn't see, he couldn't think, everything was muffled but the pain— the pain was the only thing that_ wasn't  _dulled, it was all that was left it was—_

He grabbed the phone and held it to his chest, so he hopefully wouldn't drop it. He realized only then that his vision was blurred, when he saw how smeared the screen appeared. He was breathing shallowly as he rushed to unlock the device and pull up his text messages. Kay was the first name there, and he rushed to click it. Rushed to call her, to hear her voice, and center himself, and get this to stop before it went any  _further,_ but he froze at the last second, his shaking thumb hesitating over the phone icon. His chest constricted, and his gasps came out sounding more like soft cries. He looked up at the door across from him, despair now mingling with his panic. His expression starting to crumble as the realization dawned.

He couldn't. He  _couldn't_  call her— what would he  _get?_ 'I knew this wasn't a good idea, I told you that you shouldn't have done this.' 'Where are you? I'm coming to get you.' 'Come back home, have Jonathan bring you back here.' No, no,  _no!_ He  _wanted_ to do this, he  _needed_ to do this,  _why_ couldn't he do this!? He couldn't call Kay for help. He couldn't get Jonathan's help. He had to do this himself, he couldn't get help from anyone else, he was alone, he— "Look  _at him…not so high and mighty, now, are you? Not so snarky. Now you're just_ pathetic…" He ducked his head and moved his arm so he could fold it back over his mouth. So he could maybe stifle some of his gasping, which was quickly devolving more and more into sobs. So he could hyperventilate  _there,_ instead, and maybe get some air back in.  _"You can't hide it. You can't pretend you don't want this— you can't pretend you don't_ need  _it_. _You started out so tough, fighting back, mouthing off…now your body's begging more than your smartass mouth ever could. You're fucking disgusting…"_

Nearing desperation, Cameron flinched in the pain he knew was going to come, before he jerked and slammed the back of his head against the wall. The pain took his breath away – not that he had much to begin with – and his eyes burned even more. He and Kay had been through this before. Too many times. About how this wasn't okay— about how hurting himself to try and  _keep_  himself here wasn't a good tactic. But he didn't care. He slammed his head back again, and a third time, his dizziness and nausea just worsening. He  _needed_ to throw up. Everything would calm back down if he did— he was five seconds away from just sticking his own finger down his throat, when a voice made him stiffen and jerk.

"Cameron?" The bathroom had been empty before now, completely silent save for his ragged and panicked breathing. Now, Jonathan's voice was there, and in rousing just enough to realize this, Cameron also realized just how loud  _he_  was. He clamped his mouth shut, but there was no use. He'd already heard, and it was apparent in every worried syllable of his voice. "Cameron, are you okay? What's going on?" Cameron still kept his arm over his mouth. He said nothing, but Jonathan stopped in front of his stall— the only occupied one. Clearly seeing he was on the ground. "Cameron?"

"M'fine." Cameron's voice was clenched, barely able to get out in the first place. Barely even a gasp. He flinched into his knees at how horrible he sounded.

Jonathan hesitated. Floundered, on the other side. He tried the door, but Cameron had locked it. His own breathing was quickening in his worry, in his concern. Eventually he got out: "Cameron, can I come in?" Nothing. Jonathan agonized, just standing there like an idiot. Trying to see what he could do. Call Dina? He could probably call Dina. But… "Cameron, I'm coming in." He still didn't get anything in response. He grimaced, but wasted no more time before crouching so he could slip underneath the door and scoot inside. Once he got through, his heart sank when he saw his brother.

He didn't look as bad as he had that last night they had been together. But he  _almost_  was. Cameron was curled up like he was trying to defend himself, gasping into his own arm. He was shaking, and the expression on his face was sick. Immediately, Jonathan was beginning to panic himself. "Cameron— Cameron, are you okay?" He moved to sit, to scoot closer to him. Cameron flinched hard when he did. His heart twisted up into his throat. He remembered Kay's words, layered with loathing and scorn: 'You have no idea what to say, what  _not_  to say.' He tried not to flinch. Tried to remember what she had done before.

Cameron kept gasping. Couldn't open his eyes. "M'sorry— you— go back to the table, m'fine, I just—" The words were nothing but exhales. Ragged and scared and tense. Things that weren't  _him._ It turned Jonathan's stomach even more. And though he wasn't sure it was the right thing, and though some part of him worried that he was just going to make it worse, it further cemented the half of him that knew he had to do  _something._ "'st can't— separate— sometimes, it's fine, it's not— bad, yet, I—" Cameron continued to whimper, each word trembling. Jonathan's face fell. He realized his brother was crying.

He crouched there in front of him, his eyes staying wide. It took a couple of buffering seconds. Before he offered in a tiny whisper: "…I'm here." Cameron's eyes opened, but he didn't quite look at him. He just stared blankly, his breathing staying that sharp irregular. "I'm right here, Cam," he continued, weakly and thickly. He dared to scoot closer. To increase their proximity. He remembered what Kay had done, and found himself trying to mimic her as much as he could. "It's okay, Cam…everything's fine." His stare was mournful, his chest aching with unimaginable pain. There was a period of silence, before he couldn't bring himself to listen to his panicked gasping anymore. Weakly, he asked: "What can I do? Tell me how to help."

"You can't." The objection was practically a gag, the way it fell out. Cameron flinched, his hands clenching into tight fists as he somehow found way to curl up even tighter. He kept crying, shaking his head for no apparent reason. "You can't help I just need to calm down I just need to stop thinking I just— can't—" It was all just squeaks. So constricted they barely got out. Cameron gasped hard, and Jonathan actually flinched as he practically screamed into his elbow:  _"Stop it!"_ Not at Jonathan. Maybe to himself. Maybe to someone else. Someone else that wasn't here.

Jonathan was overwhelmed, at first. He couldn't do anything but stare.

But then he could. And he moved without actual, conscious thought.

He leaned out and slowly put his hands on Cameron's shoulders. Cameron stiffened at once, and this time he did look up at him, with a very violent jerk. So violent, Jonathan almost let go. But their eyes met, and Cameron didn't shove him off. His breath just hitched in his throat, and his expression seemed to break, and it was all the encouragement Jonathan needed to scoot even closer and wrap his arms around his brother in a hug. He started loose at first, because he had no idea if this was even a good thing to do. Cameron didn't move. He just kept hyperventilating, now into his shoulder. Still stayed stiff and locked.

It felt like someone was carving into Jonathan's chest. Little by little, he tightened his hold on his brother. Wrapped his arms around him more, and tried to ignore how much he was shaking. All the while, he murmured: "You're okay…you're alright, Cam. Everything's okay." Cameron didn't return the hug. But he stayed, hyperventilating into his shoulder. Jonathan didn't do anything but hold him and reassure him. He wasn't about to let go. They stayed like this. Together.

"I'm sorry." The whisper was harsh and pinched, gasped in the middle of another sharp inhale.

"Don't be." He hugged him just a little tighter. "Don't be, Cameron."

"I— it just—" Whatever explanation he was trying to craft was cut short. Cameron suddenly ducked out of Jonathan's arms – he let go immediately – and jerked back towards the toilet. Just in time to finally vomit. Jonathan jerked back in surprise, initially. But he quickly got over it, as Cameron continued to choke and heave. Getting rid of whatever meager amount of food he'd managed to eat in the first place. He just watched in growing despair, reaching out and rubbing soothing circles on his brother's back as he continued to get sick. And when Cameron was finally done – throwing up  _much_ more than Jonathan had actually expected him to even be able to – he went back to hugging him, taking on that old, habitual protectiveness he'd had when they were kids, and holding Cameron as he went numb again. His brother still didn't fight it. Now, he was slouched in his arms, looking sick and exhausted. But much calmer.

It wasn't a lot. But it was all he could do, now. It was the only thing he could do to help.

Jonathon was here  _now._ But  _now_  was when it didn't matter anymore.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

So, apparently, it could get even  _more_ awkward. Apparently, that was a thing. And, of  _course_ , as per usual, if anything  _could_ get worse, it would definitely do so, just for Cameron's sake. The universe really liked him, that way. Which was flattering. However, at this point, he was just wishing it would redirect its attention on someone else. Literally  _anyone_ else. If only for a little bit. That might be nice. They were driving, again. This time, Jonathan was the one behind the wheel. Cameron was in the passenger seat, trying not to be to obvious of the fact he was leaning against the car door. He was completely exhausted, now. Every attack like that, and he was left with absolutely  _nothing._  He was running on E, when the tank had only been a quarter full to begin with.

Jonathan was trying not to glance at him too often. Key word being 'trying.'

Cameron guessed he should just be grateful there was effort in the first place.

His voice was noticeably scratchier when he finally broke the silence. And despite the fact he was trying to joke, his words were monotone and flat. "I really do  _not_ mean to brag, but I am going on a solid  _two month streak_ of fucking absolutely  _everything_ up." Jonathan glanced at him, looking torn between amusement and extreme sadness. The 'sadness' part a little bit more prominent. Cameron just stared down at the floor of the car, and mumbled: "I'm like King Midas, except everything I touch just turns into  _horrible situations."_  He tried to smile, but he could tell it wasn't working out. And he could tell it was doing nothing for Jonathan. So he just let it drop.

His shoulders curled forward more. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, and  _don't_ …" His tone sharpened, the instant Jonathan started to open his mouth. " _Don't_ …tell me I shouldn't be, because I  _am_ , and you just telling me I shouldn't be makes it worse, so just…don't tell me not to be sorry." Reluctantly, Jonathan closed his mouth again. Cameron took a few moments before continuing. "I…just wanted this night to…be fine, and…should have known it wouldn't be," he sighed. "So that's on me. I guess." Again, Jonathan was going to interrupt, so Cameron rushed on. "It's…sometimes stuff just…gets in my  _head_ , and I can't… _shake_ it. Uh." He drew a hand through his hair. It was still just a little bit shaky. "If you'll believe it…I've actually gotten better…about it, so…" He made a face, declaring very lightly, in almost a sing-song sigh: " _That's_ sad."

"You've gotten better?" Jonathan asked. His voice was soft.

Cameron hesitated. His eyebrows drew more together. "I…I mean, yeah. Maybe not… _all_ the time, and maybe not… _too_ much better, but…sometimes I'm more…able to stop, or…or… _realize_ …" He fidgeted. "I guess it's just…easier when someone's…you know, when someone is  _with_  me. And they can…usually it's Kay." The explanation fell a bit short. "I…" He wilted. "It's just…hard, it…and I just can't…it kind of…" He stopped. Because his throat was getting hotter, and he had to breathe before he could get worse again. But he trusted Jonathan to get it. He added in a mumble: "Thank you. For..."

Jonathan got this, too. "You're welcome." They drove in silence for a while. That's what Cameron had asked: for Jonathan just to drive. Randomly, aimlessly, which was easy to do in New York. It gave Cameron time to think. To hopefully get organized again. Get himself together. If such a thing was even possible. He rubbed his forehead, beginning to foster a splitting headache. Jonathan looked at him a couple more times. Opened his mouth and closed it and opened it again before taking it back. Cameron deflated, his eyes flickering over to him nearly every time he did. "Cam—" He bit it back again. His expression weakened. Cameron's hands clenched in his lap. "I— I know you don't— but…I—"

Cameron looked at him. Waited for it. Because he knew it was coming.

Jonathan forced it out. Barely. But heavily. "What happened, Cameron?"

He stared at him in silence. Ages seemed to pass. Before he proposed in subtle retaliation: "What were you doing with MW." It was  _much_  too flat to be considered a question. There was no hostility or reproach in his words, but maybe it would have been better if there were. Instead, it was just apathy and the smallest sense of expectance. Jonathan did a double-take. His hands clenched tighter around the steering wheel. They held one another's gaze for a tense heartbeat. Before Jonathan looked back front. He closed his mouth and his shoulders drooped.

He said nothing.

Cameron felt bad.

But he just turned front, too.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You don't…have to do this."

"I don't  _have_ to do a lot of things," he replied evenly. He was leaning against the corner of the elevator. He tipped his head back, so it could rest as well. "And yet history  _continues_  to repeat itself in a wonderful, _vicious_ cycle," he hummed. Jonathan didn't seem to appreciate the joke. He didn't really, either. So he dropped the grin, as well as the act. Soberer, he shook his head as he looked back at the doors. "This was the entire  _reason_ I came out here. I'm not going to stop just because I couldn't hold myself together for—"

"We can do it another night…" he objected weakly. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I always look that way, get used to it," Cameron exhaled as the doors opened. Jonathan made a face and started to say something, but Cameron was already pushing himself off the wall and exiting. He paused, though, waiting for Jonathan to take the lead. And take the lead he did— just very hesitantly. They walked down the hall, Cameron trailing after. He wasn't sure how far they had to go. But he quickened his pace to walk closer.

Jonathan looked at him, to see his brother cast a glance or two behind him. "…You okay?"

"Huh?" Cameron glanced over his shoulder again, blinked a couple times, and then shook himself, frowning as he looked back. "Oh, no, m'fine." Jonathan wilted dubiously. Cameron pasted a smile on his face. "This place looks nice, at least," he mumbled, clearly not interested in the actual sentiment. "Where's your— what room number are you?" he asked, a little strained. "Is it one of these?" He sounded anxious. On-edge for…no apparent reason.

But… "It's right here." Cameron practically deflated when they finally stopped by a door. Jonathan reached back into his pocket, to get out the key card. He glanced at Cameron one last time, waiting for a heartbeat more, in case he wanted to back out. But Cameron just seemed apprehensive to get inside, so Jonathan relented. He unlocked the door and stepped to the left so Cameron could follow him in. Noticing that his steps to do so were pretty rushed. He eyed him warily, but his thoughts were sliced apart at the call that met their entrance.

"Cameron!" Cameron jerked, but turned with a small smile to see Gunter already making for him. He threw out his arms and yanked him into a hug; Cameron went rigid and grimaced uncomfortably, but he didn't shove away. Just wriggled out inconspicuously, without returning the embrace. Gunter wasn't deterred, though. Maybe it was the fact it'd been so long since he'd seen him. Maybe it was the fact he'd started to feel bad. Maybe it was fact that he could see him and Jonathan standing together, side-by-side again. But Gunter was grinning from one ear to the other. "It's  _good_ to see you!" he cried, giving Cameron's shoulder a small shake with the emphasis. Cameron's grin grew just a little bit more. He looked him up and down, and beamed. "You look  _fantastic!"_

"I  _know._ I've just been voted handsomest man alive— you missed them handing over the trophy. There was confetti and everything," he hummed. Jonathan cracked a smile, but it was quick to tinge over with sadness. He ducked his head to try and hide it. Neither of them had noticed. "It's good to see you, too." His voice was softer, with this. "It's been…a while."

Gunter's smile deflated just a bit, too. He nodded. "Yeah, it…it has…"

Silence clogged the space between them, uncomfortable and stiff. Apparently, nobody was clever enough or brave enough to even  _try_ small-talk. So. Out of habit, Cameron looked down at the ground and inhaled quickly. "Uh— so, um…Gunter, I have to talk to you— to  _both…_ of you. It's not…and I don't really wanna beat around the bush anymore, because that's allwe've  _been_ doing…" He cleared his throat. Nodded his head a couple of times. Jonathan and Gunter said nothing; in sync, they just turned and glanced at one another. The expressions on their faces were identical. Confused and hesitant and awkward but most of all pained when they looked back at Cameron. At least they didn't interrupt. Which was good, because Cameron needed the silence. To think, and stay calm, and get through this, because he had to.

He forced it out, blunt and almost apathetically, because if he kept apathetic maybe it would be easier. "I want you to come back." Gunter stiffened with surprise at the sudden announcement. Jonathan looked away. "I want you to come back to the archive, because that's our home,  _but._ I  _only_  want you to come back if you're willing to…to  _drop_  all of this. All this fighting, this blaming, and…" He paused. Before he took in a deeper breath and said a little louder: "Because this entire situation is just—  _…has_  just been handled really  _immaturely_ …and it needs to  _stop."_

"This fighting is  _stupid,_ and it's not helping  _anything_." He gestured vaguely to the hotel room they were now standing in. He forced himself to look hard at Gunter, who was trying to keep his face blank. But Cameron swore he could see a hint of agony in the back of his eyes. "You blame Kay," he stated. "Jordan blames you  _for_ blaming Kay. You blame Jordan for blaming Jonathan," Jonathan cringed at this, "Kay blames Jonathan, Jonathan blames Kay, and Dina doesn't know  _who_ to blame. This  _whole_ situation…is because everyone is pointing fingers and blaming others and trying to make other people responsible, but you know  _what?_

" _None_ of you even  _get_ to blame anyone else." God, he wished, just for  _once_ , that he could talk without crying. Without feeling the telltale thickness in his throat or the prickle in his eyes that warned it was about to happen. So far, it was only this hint. He'd try and keep it there the best that he could. "You guys don't  _get_ to blame anyone— nothing  _happened_ to you. So  _why_ are you pointing fingers like you have that kind of right?" It was only thanks to his muted anger that he wasn't breaking down. He was trying to lean more on that emotion, instead.

" _I…_ am the  _only…_ person in this situation…that has the right to point a finger. At  _anybody._ I don't  _care_ who  _you_ think is to blame. That doesn't matter  _at all_. But somehow, we've  _still_ let it get this far. I have  _no_ idea how or why, but I just want it to stop." He paused, looking hard between the two of them. Jonathan's eyes were still closed. Gunter's tough façade was breaking a bit. He held his friend's stare. "I already talked to Kay…and I told her the thing that I needed the most now, was everyone back together.  _Including_ Jonathan." His brother looked up, a world of pain on his face. "She understood, and she said she would work on letting go. It's going to be hard for her, just like it's going to be hard for you, too, but you're gonna have to if you ever want things to be even close to the way they used to be.

"If you want that at all, you have to forgive Kay and Jordan. And you have to let go of  _whatever_  you have against them. Whatever you think they did, or whatever you think they were wrong about. 'Cause I'm  _real_ sorry to burst your bubble— but  _you in particular_ actually had  _nothing_  to do with this  _entire_  situation. Not a  _single_ thing. Which I envy you for, so don't feel  _too_ left out." It was only said half-jokingly. And he was quick to sober again, afterwards.

"Maybe you  _don't_ want things to go back to the way they used to be— maybe you don't want to come back to the archive if Kay is there— that is  _completely_ your decision." That sorrow was creeping back. "But I thought there was more to our family." His voice was thinner now. He was trying not to let it hitch too much. "I thought…there was more to us than just working together, I thought there was something else. But if our entire past can just  _cease_ to exist because of all this petty blaming, then that's news to me, and you'll just have to be more specific. So I can stop waiting for you to come around, and missing you, and wondering why you stand where you do."

Gunter was completely silent. Staring at him like he was shell-shocked.

Cameron took in a shaking breath before he turned to Jonathan. The much harder part of this equation. Because he  _was_ one of the three people that actually  _did_ carry blame in this situation. Jonathan…Kay…and  _him._ "And Jonathan." His brother's eyes flashed with pain, but to his credit, he looked right back at him. "Jonathan… _you_ can't blame Kay." He was much quieter, now. And weaker. Strained. "She's done some things wrong, she's got her own problems with blaming…she hasn't been right about everything…but she… _has…_ been here. She was  _here…_ for me."

He'd officially lost out on the whole 'not-crying' thing, now. But so had Jonathan, at least. "And Jonathan, I will  _swear_ to you on  _whatever_ you want me to…that if she  _hadn't_ been there when you  _weren't_ , I would be dead right now." The statement was heavy-handed and dull. Jonathan reacted to it in so much pain that one would think Cameron had punched him. But it was true. "I wouldn't have opened that door for you— it would have been someone else. At the  _very least_ …you need to realize that. There are other things wrong, and there are other problems or issues— but you need to realize that. Everything else is secondary. At least, _I_  think so."

He paused, before he added much softer: "You  _can't_  be the pot calling the kettle black, Johnny.  _You…_ do not…get to  _blame_ …anyone. Your job right now should be just trying to make things right. And  _that's_  it. …Right?" Jonathan did nothing for a very long time. Before he nodded once. Very stiffly. Cameron mimicked the gesture. "I told Kay the same thing." He turned to Gunter and tacked on: "And I'm going to tell Jordan the same thing I told  _you_ , too. You can decide what you want to do, but this is the final olive branch. You either come back to the archive…and  _promise_ to try and actually  _fix_ what is wrong with us…or you're gone. Because I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to me. Because  _I'm_ the one who was hurt. So I should be the one that's hurting the  _least_ right now." He glanced at Jonathan for only a second before he added: "And I shouldn't be the only one trying to  _fix_ everything."

He left a gap, in case anyone wanted to argue, or fight. Nobody spoke, though. It was so quiet, if you dropped a pin, the walls might be blown down. Suddenly this hotel room seemed very, very small. Way too small, and too crowded. Gunter's expression was indecipherable. Jonathan's was wrought with pain. Cameron took in a deeper breath and pushed: "So. You can either decide that this isn't worth it…that everything up until now means nothing because of an opinion you have. Or…" He made a face, sniffing and stuffing his hands into his pockets to try and hide the fact his hands were still shaking. He offered them a smile, but it was a smile that held only expectance for the answer. There was no friendliness, or humor in it. There was no  _Cameron._

Still, his voice was at least the tiniest bit lighter when he ended: "Or you can just  _suck it up_ , buttercup."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

When you're away for a very long time…your house ends up feeling strange. As foreign as if you'd just walked into a stranger's, and you were seeing it for the very first time. You forget little details, or you forget the way it smells, or the way the floor creaks under your feet when you walk too fast. You lived there for ages, but it doesn't change the fact that it's different  _now._ Or, it doesn't have to be for when you were away for forever. When Cameron had come home from Rockland – a stay that was short, in technicality's sense, at least – the entire archive had felt foreign, somehow. It hadn't felt  _right._ Something in it was wrong, or out of place.

Eventually, he'd come to terms with the fact that  _he_ was simply the thing that was wrong. Nothing had actually changed about his home.  _He_ had changed, and therefore he hadn't fit anymore. Or, at least, not in the way he had before he'd walked out that door, intent on breaking his brother out of prison. Maybe that was all that happened, when you came back from traveling. You were just used to other places, you'd forgotten the one you left behind. There was nothing altered but you, and your perception.  _You_ were the issue.  _You_ were what was wrong.

And Cameron was extrapolating on that, to figure that was why the archive felt the way it did right now, as well. All things considered, it should have felt the  _most_ familiar to them. It should have finally felt like everything had fallen back into place, and they could finally breathe the collected sigh of relief they'd been bottling back this entire time. Because they were all home, now. They were all home again, and  _Jonathan_ was home again, too. Everything was finally the way it was supposed to be. Right? No. Because it didn't feel that way. At all. It felt the opposite.

Because  _they_  were all wrong.

The entire atmosphere seemed stiff. Everyone was back, and accounted for…but there was still something  _off._ The way everyone looked at one another, the way nobody really spoke. Those and about a million more things, and the archive was suddenly completely different. Cameron tried to ignore it. Not that denial had gotten him  _anywhere at all_ recently. But he tried. He helped them bring all their stuff back in. He told them how much he'd missed them, and how great it was they were all back together. He ignored the stiff way Jordan had walked past Jonathan. He ignored the fact that conversation between  _everyone_ was lacking. The nervousness in Dina's eyes when Jordan and Gunter glanced at each other and only offered muttered greetings. The concern in Kay's when she just watched him carefully throughout the entire exchange.

Cameron was sitting on the couch, a troubled and pained look on his face, now that he was alone. Everyone else had gone back to their rooms. Under the guise they had to rearrange everything and put it all back, but most likely because they were simply needing their own space to come to terms with it all. Cameron had given the same song and dance to Jordan. They'd all taken a couple days to commit to burying their hatchets. The hatchets they shouldn't have even been carrying in the first place. They'd come back, and now he guessed it was just up to time to tell whether or not it would all work out. So far, it seemed bleak. It seemed like whatever peace would come, would come slowly, and be half-hearted at most.

Not that Cameron thought it would be easy. He'd just wanted…a bit  _simpler._ He'd hoped for something simpler, at least. He should have figured hoping would get him nowhere.

"Cameron?" He looked up at Kay's voice, feeling a pang in his chest when his eyes rose to meet hers. She was lingering in the entryway, that concern alive on her every feature. He offered her a smile when he looked up, but he could feel its fragility. She started forward, and sat down beside him. Though they were the only two in the room, she kept her voice soft. "How are you doing?"

"I'm fine," he mumbled, looking down at his hands.

She wilted, reading him like an open book. "Disappointed?" she guessed, her tone heavy. His shoulders hunched, and it was all the answer she needed. She hesitated for a moment, grappling with what to say. "Cameron, I…it'll probably…just take  _time_ for things to…you can't expect everything to just—"

"Why is it that  _I_ can be okay enough for all of this, but  _nobody_  else can?" he blurted out, unexpectedly harsh. She immediately broke off, snapping her mouth shut. She didn't cut in, as he swept along. Though he cracked a smile, and a little laugh bordered his words, there wasn't the tiniest amount of humor in his eyes. "I mean, how  _ridiculous_ is that? Have you stopped to think about how  _ridiculous_ that is? That  _I'm_ the one being the most mature about this? That  _I'm_ the  _only_ person that got hurt, and now  _I'm_ the only person actually  _trying_ to put this behind me, and not have it  _ruin my entire fucking life?"_ These last few words were almost lost to those angry, scoffing giggles.

Kay said nothing. Maybe she just couldn't. He kept going, losing control. "It's like you guys all trying to point fingers at who knocked over a cup of water!  _…Why_ are you guys trying to blame someone!? It doesn't  _matter—_ everything's already  _wet_ , and you're all just  _standing_  there and  _nobody's_  getting any towels to help me pick this  _shit_ up! What _good_  does it do!? It doesn't do  _anything!"_ He was glaring down at his lap, now, anger and irritation he had been trying to bottle back resurfacing in this brief moment. Clouding his expression and his judgement as he let his temper flare.

Until he realized himself and blinked a couple times, turning and looking back at Kay. Her eyes were rounded out with pain and something close to hurt. Or maybe it was more accurate to call it guilt. He weakened at the expression she wore, and his nerves began to die down immediately. "I didn't…" He remembered his own words from before, and felt a sting of remorse.  _'And…I mean…the point is, she's just seen me the most. When I was bad. When I_ am _. Bad.'_ He deflated. "I'm sorry…" he offered, and she looked away. Her own shoulders were curling forward. "Kay, I didn't…I didn't mean it, I'm just frustrated."

"It's okay," she offered, still riddled with guilt. "I'm…Cameron…I'm sorry if—"

"Don't be," he sighed, slouching back. She glanced at him, and he looked back at her with a heavy expression. "I can't be angry at you guys just because you're not as good hiding it as I am." Her face fell. For a moment, they just stared at each other, a million things seeming to pass between them. Until, with another weighted exhale, Cameron leaned over and flopped down to put his head in her lap. His expression was miserable. Immediately, she started to pull her fingers through his hair, in an attempt at comfort. It helped him start to relax. "It's just hard…" he mumbled eventually.

"I know." Kay's remorse was palpable. "I'm sorry, Cameron. I know you just…want everything back the way it was." He closed his eyes, so maybe they wouldn't sting as much. He tried to concentrate just on her touch. After a moment or two of silence, she pressed a little hesitantly: "Cameron…do you—?" She stopped before she could finish. He opened his eyes again, confused. Shifted so that he was more on his back, so he could look up at her in confusion. It took a second, but she forced out the question regardless. But it was in nothing more than a whisper, like she was afraid of letting it out. "Do you really not blame Jonathan? At all?" she dared to pry.

He should have expected the inquiry, but it still hurt to receive. His stare grew even more clouded. It felt like it took forever for him to figure out what to say. To fumble for some kind of answer. But it was hard to do that, when he didn't even think there  _was_ one. "I…don't… _not…_ blame him?" It came out sounding like a question. "I don't know what to…say, or…" His eyebrows pulled together. "He's  _sorry,"_  he pointed out after a moment. "Should I… _blame_ someone that's already sorry?" It was an honest question. He looked back up at Kay once he asked.

But she didn't respond. She was silent, just staring down at him like she was in pain.

Even between the two of them, they couldn't find an answer.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Jonathan was standing in the middle of his room. Just standing…and staring. Unmoving, as he looked at every little detail around him, yet didn't really see it at the same time. There was an unbelievable amount of pain weighing down on his chest like a brick. It was making the simple act of breathing difficult. He felt like he needed to pinch himself, to know that this wasn't one of the dreams he'd used to always have back in Rockland. Of finally being able to get back to his home— back to his old room, with all his familiar furniture. Because he'd had so many of those.

But, at the same time, he was positive he didn't need to. He was  _positive_  this wasn't a dream.

He couldn't possibly have been able to conjure the rest of this situation.

"Jonathan?" He jerked, turning around to see Cameron standing in the doorway. As always, his heart twisted into a harsh knot the second his eyes landed on him. As they landed on all the details about his brother that had changed. The slight pallor to his skin, the scar on his cheek, the bags under his eyes, the long-sleeved shirt he now knew was covering up something horrible. It put him through agony. But either Cameron didn't notice, or he was so well-versed in the reaction he didn't care anymore. He just asked: "What are you doing?"

"I'm…" Jonathan blinked a couple times, before he tore his gaze away from his twin to look around the room. "I don't know…I'm just…" He turned back to Cameron, and his eyes flashed. "I'm just…happy to be home," he admitted weakly. "I'm happy to be back…in my own room. Not…" He trailed off, not sure whether he should finish.

Cameron seemed to get it. "I know." The two words were filled with understanding, but it just made Jonathan feel worse. Because Cameron  _shouldn't_ have known. Cameron shouldn't understand how lonely and isolating his cell had been; he never should have stepped foot in there. Let alone be  _trapped_  in it for days. It was suffocating, to realize that. To look at his brother – to look at his brother and the tiny smile he was offering him – and wonder what it had been like for him, laying there and convincing himself this was all some sort of trick. Wondering…what it had felt like, and what he had done, when he'd been forced back behind the bars, after… Cameron started talking again, and that, thankfully, interrupted his train of thought. "I'm happy you're back." Jonathan's face fell. Cameron's voice was soft and earnest when he murmured: "Just…wasn't the same. Without you here."

Jonathan said nothing. He couldn't. His throat was getting too thick to.

Cameron stared at him for a couple more seconds, before he took in a quick breath and straightened. He ducked his head and looked down at the ground. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and curled into himself a little more. Jonathan watched these mannerisms with a sinking heart. They were so foreign, when it came to Cameron. He was lingering at the threshold like he was a stranger— too anxious to make any sudden moves. His voice was murmuring, not loud and confident and  _obnoxious_ like it was before. The expression on his face was sullen at best. This wasn't the Cameron he'd left.

Cameron always used to burst into his room halfway through a sentence, raving about some idea for a magic trick that Jonathan couldn't even understand because his brother had  _started_ the explanation about halfway down the hall. He used to talk with his hands, and refuseto  _stop_ talking. Jonathan had one memory in particular he used to only find irritation and confusion in. He'd been sitting at his desk, probably reading something, when Cameron had all but kicked his door in. He'd whirled around, jumping nearly ten feet. But before he could ask his brother what the hell he wanted, Cameron had snapped at him urgently:  _"What would your turtle name be!?"_

Jonathan had stared at him like he was an alien species. After a few seconds, he'd managed a stutter of: "My…turtle name?"

" _Yes!"_ Cameron had groaned, yanking back and forth on the door very pointlessly. Jonathan had continued to stare at him like he was absolutely insane, but Cameron had just snapped: "If you were a  _turtle,_ what would your  _turtle name be!? This is important and you're taking way too long!"_

"I— I don't  _know!"_ Jonathan had blustered. "I'd— I'd keep my name the same!?"

This answer caused Cameron to reel away, groaning again but louder this time, and in much more frustration. "You're no  _help!"_ he'd whined. And Jonathan had opened his mouth to ask him what the  _hell_ was wrong with him, but his brother was already slamming the door and running back the way he'd come. Jonathan had never  _once_  gotten an explanation as to why Cameron had asked that question, and why it was so very important. He'd shoved it out of his mind, just irritated that his brother could be so annoying for seemingly no reason at all.

He'd been  _annoyed,_ then. Now, he was aching for even the  _tiniest scrap_ of that, back. Because that Cameron was nowhere to be found, anymore. He knew this type of person. He knew that dulled-over look, he'd seen that same defensive kind of posture. He'd seen the reclusive way he was attempting to avoid eye contact, and he heard the soft hesitancy that was in Cameron's voice. He'd seen all of those traits and more, in other prisoners at Rockland. The ones that had given up. That had broken, and were just struggling to keep the pieces of themselves together again.

Jonathan had seen those people and just promised himself he would never become one of them.

And he hadn't.

Instead,  _Cameron_  had.

"Jonathan?" He jerked at his name a second time over. He realized Cameron was staring at him, waiting for something. Apparently, he'd asked a question. Jonathan was so sidetracked in his own thoughts, he hadn't even heard. Cameron gathered this from the blank stare his brother was sending him. He repeated himself. "I said I was trying to think of something to  _do. Other_ than staring at the wall for hours; I've dabbled in the activity, and it's not as entertaining and you'd think it'd be." He cracked another smile, but it was another smile Jonathan wasn't going to react to. Cameron kept trying, though. "I was going to offer Monopoly. But I figured playing a board game that literally  _exists_ to destroy friendships should  _probably_  be reserved for a later date…"

He fell silent, and this time it was clear he was waiting for a reply. Which Jonathan gave, very clumsily, and after a small stretch of silence. "Yeah, I— …no, I don't think that'd be too good an idea," he offered, trying to go along with him. It wasn't the best he could do. It wasn't nearly as convincing as he wanted it to be. But at the same time, it made Cameron light up. Which, somehow, just made Jonathan sad all over again. To see that he was so easily overjoyed, at such a weak attempt at humor. "But I can't…" Cameron's smile faded. Jonathan grew remorseful. "I can't…think of anything."

"At  _all?"_

Jonathan shook his head. Cameron wilted. He looked off to the side, deflating. Jonathan hesitated, but after a moment, pasted a smile on his face and offered: "What about you, though?" Cameron looked back, confused. "Is there something  _you_ want to do? Something…you might think was fun?"

It looked like he was going to say no. Like he was going to shrug. But then he stopped and perked, an idea lighting up in his eyes. And he slowly began to smile.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"You look like a duck."

"Shut  _up_ , Cameron."

"I didn't mean you looked like a duck in a  _bad_ way. You're a  _cute_  duck. Does that make it better?"

Kay shot him a glare, but she was smiling too much for it to pass as one. "No. It  _doesn't._ Anyway, you'll look just as stupid. If you ever decide to figure out how to put your skates on." She shot him a bland look, and he smirked as he looked back down, muttering something about how it wasn't his fault this was overly complicated. Kay was standing a little awkwardly in front of him, waiting (impatiently, now) for him to wrap it up.

Everyone else was pretty much already ready to go. The atmosphere was just as tense as it had been in the car on the way over. Jordan was sitting at Cameron's side, tucked into his phone, trying to pretend he was actually distracted by whatever was on the screen. Gunter and Jonathan were standing off to the side, waiting. Jonathan's stare was heavy, and his eyes went to his brother frequently. Worriedly. Gunter was expressionless, studying the ground. Dina was lingering beside Kay, just shuffling her skates with a worried look. While Kay was focusing just on Cameron, Dina was looking at everyone else.

They were all together again. But there was a clear boundary still separating the sides. Even now.

Cameron had started out optimistic— which was a  _big deal_. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so hopeful and sure that something might turn out right. They used to  _always_ go ice skating. You can't live in New York and  _not_ go skating at Rockefeller Center. It was so decorated, so bright, so  _Christmas,_ it was a staple that you just couldn't skip out on. The team would go twice a year. The first time with Cameron, and the second with Jonathan. It was  _tradition_.

Cameron just finished tying up his skates. He huffed, finally starting to get up. Sure enough, it was awkward and wobbly, to try and balance. "Fine, okay, I'm done," he grinned. Kay started to smile too, and Jordan reluctantly stood up as well. Cameron was trying to ignore how he was hanging so close to him. "We'd take bets on who's going to fall the most, but I already know it's gonna be Gunter," he said loudly. Immediately, he was biting back on a smile as Gunter looked up with that familiar, irritated look. The look he always used to give him whenever he said something snide. He never realized he'd miss being glared at so much. "You're the worst out of all of us, Gunter, you're like that scene in Bambi. Unless you took secret ice skating lessons we don't know about. Which I'd actually recommend."

"Oh, shut up," he scoffed, and Cameron grinned more. " _Jordan_  is the worst. But you're not perfect, either— last time we were here, you fell and nearly yanked me down  _with_  you."

" _Hey_ — if _I_  go down, we  _all_  go down," Cameron snapped, and he started to make for the rink. His chest felt warm when he realized Jonathan was cracking a smile. "And, I  _am_ perfect. So. Think 'bout that for a little bit." Dina was grinning just a little, as well, but when Gunter glanced at her and caught her eye, the smile was quick to die. She ducked her head and just walked after Cameron. Jordan did the same. Gunter's eyes flashed, but he followed suit.

Cameron had been grinning, but when he took the front of the group, it decayed. Kay saw this change, and she saw the way he was looking around at the crowd of people that were there. It was fairly early. The huge crowds would come later. And though they hadn't been noticed and flagged down  _yet,_ every passing minute brought them closer to being recognized. Crowds were already bad enough. Being under a spotlight was even worse. She could see the hint of discomfort already on his face. So, she reached out and grabbed his hand. She intertwined their fingers and squeezed. Gently, but still enough to be reassuring. He looked at her, and his uneasy expression melted more into a smile.

Jonathan was trailing behind them. He watched the exchange with a heart that only grew heavier at the light he saw spark back into Cameron's eyes when he looked at her. His steps began to slow. He glanced at Dina as she passed him, but looked away when he saw how pained her expression became once their eyes met. He stopped entirely. All at once, and without warning. Gunter stopped when he did. Dina kept walking for a few paces, until she too eventually slowed and turned back. Cameron and Kay didn't notice them. Jordan nearly ran into Jonathan, but he was trying to move around him and keep up with those two. Bypass the others. It was only thanks to Jonathan speaking up, that he didn't.

"Jordan…wait." Jordan did, but he didn't turn. Jonathan grimaced, and looked off to the side. The talking around them made it harder to hear him, but it also, paradoxically, gave them a weird kind of privacy. Everyone else was too worried about themselves and their own conversations to mind them. "I…I just…I wanted to…before we…"

Jordan turned. His stare was hard. All day, it had just been blank when he'd looked at Jonathan, because Cameron was always there. But now he wasn't, so now the anger and loathing was clear as day. He scowled, practically daring him to speak. It was difficult to meet that look head-on. But he forced himself to. Seven full seconds of silence passed, as he tried to fumble for something to say. "I'm sorry," he offered, in a tinier croak. Something that was small, and fragile, and entirely underwhelming. Entirely 'not-enough.'

"I'm sorry," he repeated, louder. "I know you blame me…Jordan. I know you hate me. I blame me too." Dina crossed her arms over her chest, looking down at the ground. She pressed her lips tighter together. "It was my fault.  _Mine._ This whole thing." Already, his voice was growing thicker and thicker. "You're right to put it all on me. And hate me. Because I hate me too. What I did was horrible…and  _cruel_ …and thoughtless…and it'll  _always_ be there. I can't go back and change it, even if I want to— God, do I  _want_ to…but I can't. What I did was permeant, and I hurt Cameron, and I hurt all of you, and I wasn't even here to try and help manage what happened  _because_ of me. And that was wrong of me, too.

"I  _promise_  all of you…that not a day will go by that I don't kick myself for leaving him. That I don't tell myself I'm the  _worst_  brother in the world and all of this was because of the fact that  _I_  left him there. Because that's the truth." He looked around Jordan. Kay and Cameron were lost to the crowd by now. But in his mind's eye, he saw his brother's soft smile when he'd looked at her. And he juxtaposed it with the horrified and hollowed-out look he'd had when he'd opened that door for him that night. The sick way he'd curled away when Jonathan saw the wound on his arm.

"I'm going to spend the rest of my life regretting what I did," he practically whispered. Dina was crying. She tried to hide it by looking away, but she was. "And I should. I don't deserve to forget it— not even for a second." He took in a shaking breath and closed his eyes hard. "But I'm  _also_  going to spend every day for the rest of my life… _trying_ to make up for what I did. And I know I never can…I know nothing I could ever do will take this all away. But I'm going to try to make it up to you guys…and I'm going to try to make it up to Cameron. It's not going to make a difference, because what's done is  _done._  But…"

Jordan's stare was ebbing in its anger. He was taking after Jonathan's expression, which was just filled with pain and regret. "You have every right to hate me. All of you do." He looked at Gunter, and shook his head at the look that was on his face. "You can't defend me," he objected weakly. "You can't defend what I did— you  _have_ to realize that, Gunter.  _I_ did this to Cameron.  _I_ hurt him. And I don't want you sticking up for me anymore, to anyone, because I don't deserve it. I appreciate it…but I don't deserve it." Gunter said nothing. But his face was falling, slowly.

Jonathan turned to Dina, and he shook his head. "And Dina…I have way too much to apologize to you for." Her eyes welled up even more. Her lower lip trembled, but she managed to hold his stare. "I've hurt you so many times. In so many ways. And somehow, you always kept helping me." His eyes were raw with pain. "And you  _still_  helped me…by keeping Cameron safe. And helping him when I wasn't here for him the way I should have been. I put you through that, I made you take that responsibility…I created the divide you've been having to deal with. But you're still here, trying. Because that's what you always do— you  _try._  And all I do is take, and I'm so sorry. I'm  _so_ sorry. For  _all_ of it. I don't deserve you, or your forgiveness."

She reached up to wipe at her cheek, as a tear started to trace down her face.

Jonathan swallowed hard, before he went back to Jordan. "Jordan, you've always been right. To blame me. I can't tell you how sorry I am. And how much I wish I could take it all back— how much I wish I could take  _anything_ back. I know it doesn't amount to anything. And I know you won't forgive me. But I just want you to know how sorry I am. And how much I'm going to try and make up for at least a  _fraction_  of the mess I made. Cameron…just wants this to work. And he's right: he can't be the only one to fix it. He shouldn't even  _have_ to; I need to fix it. So don't fight over who's to blame. Because it's  _me_.

"I already ruined so much," he murmured. "Don't let me ruin this team, too."

Silence met his words. Radio silence, that rubbed him the wrong way, and set his skin crawling. At least Gunter wasn't fighting him. He was relenting, now. There was no way left for him to fight. They all just looked at one another beseechingly. Before Jordan spoke up, his voice hollow as he stared at Jonathan. "I took Cameron out to a bar, when he first got back." Jonathan knew. His heart broke as he recalled the voicemail. But he let him continue. "And you wanna know what one of the first things he said was?"

Jonathan didn't. But he stared, waiting, because he knew he deserved to face it.

"He said you didn't care about him anymore. That you never did." Jonathan cringed. "He said you never loved him— not once. That everything you ever did was just for show. And I knew he meant it. I  _saw_ that he meant it. He was crying. Saying that he… _deserved_  it." The word came out with obscene difficulty. Jonathan flinched again. "You know how many times he  _asked_ about you when he was actually  _with it?_ When he finally woke up and could actually  _think_ enough to put together sentences…all of them were just about  _you_."

Dina was hugging herself again. Gunter's stare was heavy, but he didn't intervene. In the face of all of what was being said…maybe he just realizing he couldn't. "Asking where you were, if we knew what you were doing, why you hated him, why you left…and  _every_ time, he was just as disappointed. He cried just as much. And somehow, even _that_  wasn't as painful as when he just  _stopped_. And gave up." His eyes narrowed just a fraction. "He  _dragged_ himself to your room when he first got home— did you know that? Do you know how much that must have  _hurt_ him? How  _hard_ it must have been— how  _long_ it must have taken? Just to get down the  _hall?_  Of course you don't— you didn't see what he  _looked like_ when he got home. But it was  _hard._ And  _did it_  anyway. We didn't say anything. Just like we stopped saying anything when he cried about you, because by then everyone just knew there wasn't anything  _left_  to say."

Jonathan was crying silently, taking every sentence, because he knew it was just justice. And hardly even that, in the first place. Jordan stared at him levelly. Before he took in a slow breath and said, softer: "You hurt him. Jonathan. You took a part of him away from us. From  _himself. He's_  the one you need to make it up to. He's the one you hurt the most. If you make it up to him…that's all I'll need. But until then…until all of this is just some messed-up memory we don't even think about anymore…" He shook his head. "I won't fight you. I know Cameron needs us to be happy. So I will be. But I won't forgive you until _Cameron_ is happy again. Until he's who he was again before you did what you did."

Jonathan sat with the words for quite some time. Before he nodded once, and murmured: "And I don't deserve to ask for anything more than that."

Meanwhile, Cameron was frowning, shuffling in a tiny, clumsy circle as he scanned the crowd. He and Kay were standing right next to the ice— however, upon realizing they were alone, they'd stopped right before they could actually enter the rink. Now, Cameron was trying to find out where the heck the rest of their party had gone. "They all need leashes," he grumbled. Kay was watching out for people to recognize Cameron – she reflected a little sorrowfully that the likelihood of him being recognized without Jonathan, especially in a scarf and hat the way he was, was slim to none, with how much he'd changed – but she looked at him when he declared this. "They  _do._ Like those…child leashes that are shaped like monkey tails so your kid just thinks it's a toy, and not something you need because they  _literally can't even stay by you for five minutes."_

Kay couldn't fight a smile. "If you were a toddler now, I bet you'd have a leash," she teased.

"You're  _absolutely_ right, I need constant supervision." He fell silent for a couple of seconds, before his shoulders drooped, and a sadder expression crawled over his face. "They're probably all just—" He perked, straightening up when he finally caught sight of their missing pieces. Dina was walking the fastest on her skates, and she gave him a warm smile when their eyes met. "Where did you guys go?" he asked, once they got closer.

She answered straight away. "Gunter and Jordan made a bet to see who could  _jump_  the most on their skates without breaking an ankle."

Cameron blinked, and looked back at the two. "Who won?"

At the same time, they both announced: "I did." They each did a double-take, looking at each other in a mix of alarm and irritation, at first. But Cameron noticed when there was the tiniest quirk at the edge of Jordan's lips— the smallest hint of a smile. And he would be lying if he said he didn't think Gunter was biting back on a smirk, too, when he rolled his eyes and looked back front. Dina was moving on quickly, looking to the ice with a genuine eagerness, now. Out of everyone, she and Cameron were usually the ones most excited to go ice skating. Jordan would rather stay in, and Jonathan kind of got tired of it after a while. And, being that it was just Gunter's mission in life to pretend he hated  _everything_ , it left them to be the only fun ones. "Are we going to skate, or are we just going to stand at the edge?" she demanded.

"We've been standing here for  _so long waiting for you guys!"_  Cameron squawked.

Dina threw him a teasing look and was the first to step out. She did so easily, without a single hesitation or stumble. She skated out a few feet and did a small twirl so she could watch the rest of them, who she knew for a fact would not be as good as her. Kay shifted out of the way to stand against Cameron, leaving room for Gunter and Jordan to go next. Sure enough, Cameron started laughing as Gunter started wobbling the second he stepped off firm ground. He wasn't clinging to the wall, but he wasn't  _moving_ at all, either. He just kind of stood there, his arms out awkwardly like it would help maintain his balance. You'd think after going ice skating twice a year every year for a while, he'd be better. But alas. Apparently not.

Jordan was even more pathetic, though. The  _instant_ he touched the ice, his legs were sliding absolutely everywhere. He clung to the wall and continued to kick out, basically just holding himself up while his legs went in every direction. Gunter was reaching over to try and grab onto the wall as well, but Jordan was literally too all-over-the-place for him to manage it. Cameron was still chuckling, when he looked back at Jonathan. He was lingering on the edge, like he was unsure of his place. He was smiling, but not laughing. Cameron sobered just a little, but his grin stayed. "What's wrong?" he prompted.

Kay looked between them, and her smile instantly died. She looked away, but kept listening.

Jonathan straightened, blinking a couple times before he looked at his brother. That pain was back. It was nearly palpable. Seeing it now, he was wondering how much was actually there, considering he was probably holding back quite a lot of it. "Oh— nothing. Nothing, it's…fine," Jonathan reassured. He looked back at the rink. Dina was currently doing circles around Gunter very nonchalantly— he was snapping at her to quit showing off. She was laughing. His expression grew wistful. "This is…" He looked back at Cameron. "This is just the first time we'll actually…be able to do this together," he announced. A fact Cameron was already very well-aware of. "Ice skate." Like he needed to elaborate.

Cameron softened. He smiled, affection and sorrow alike mingling in his stare as he looked at his brother. "That's why I wanted to come out." Jonathan began to smile as well. And his smile only grew when Cameron offered slyly: "I'll finally be able to know whether or not you were full of shit when you said you're a better ice skater than I am." Jonathan laughed. Cameron had missed the sound. "Go on, Michael Phelps," he snapped, brisker. "Show me what you got."

Jonathan complied, with a roll of his eyes. Correcting as he sidled around him: "Michael Phelps is a  _swimmer_ not an ice skater."

Kay watched the exchange with a heavy heart. She watched Jonathan step out, and she looked at Cameron's smile – growing more and more with relief – trying not to let it get to her. He followed Jonathan, and that just left Kay to stick close to him. Unlike them, she hadn't been ice skating in  _years._ She just never had the time for it. Or the drive, to get out and actually go trough all the effort it took. So the instant she got into the actual rink, she was starting to slip. Thankfully, Cameron was there, and he grabbed her arm, his eyes widening with alarm, but his face breaking out into a grin. "Don't die!" he snickered, as she fought to get her balance. He laughed even more, when she looked up to shoot him a flustered glare. "When was the last time you skated?"

"I have no idea," she puffed, still holding onto his arms. She'd righted herself by now, and, like Gunter, she was just kind of standing there, as if she was waiting for the technique to come to her. Cameron was grinning from ear-to-ear, helping hold her up. He was surprisingly steady. "Ages," she offered, and he laughed again. She would be more embarrassed, if she didn't just love the sound of his laugh.

"It gets easier," Cameron offered. "Ten…fifteen minutes— you'll be zooming around like Dina." She muttered a tiny: 'Doubt it' under her breath. It made him snicker again. "C'mon, I'll help you. I think I owe you that much, by now." The sentiment was said lightly, and mostly teasingly. But Kay looked up when it was, and when their eyes met, the change was clear. He went soft, adoration creeping into his gaze. She smiled, succumbing to the same expression immediately. For a few long heartbeats, they just stood as if separate from everything else. Looking at one another in silence, but saying about a million things.

Before: "Stop it!" Cameron looked up, and Kay turned. Gunter was still trying to reach the railing. Jordan had actually started to get his feet underneath him. But he was still kicking out every so often, and he was catching Gunter in the shins on accident. "You're going to trip me!" Gunter was shouting, Jordan just fumbling to get a better hold on the wall. "You idiot—  _stop— will you just stand_ up!? It's not that hard, it's—!" Jordan jerked forward and this time, he jerked so he practically swept Gunter's legs out from under him. He fell and immediately started snapping: "You did that on purpose!"

"You think I can do  _anything_ on purpose, right now!?" Jordan demanded. "You—  _stop!"_ Gunter was grabbing at his legs, trying to yank him down at payback. Jordan glued himself to the wall, practically, struggling to stay at least half-upright.  _"Stop!"_ he shrieked. "Stop it, I'm gonna fall on you and then we're  _both gonna die is that what you want!?"_

" _As long as you're included!"_

Dina rushed over. "Stop it,  _both_  of you!" she fussed. "You're going to get us all kicked out and we haven't even been here for five minutes!"

"Here, c'mere." Cameron shifted so he could hold Kay's hand, and he started skating slow, giving her time to keep up. She was shaky, but he was a decent enough skater to make sure she didn't fall. She was concentrating very hard on getting the blades aligned under her feet, but she still heard whenever he laughed. She looked at him hard, but he just smiled innocently. "I'm sorry, I'm  _sorry,_ it's just— you can't ice skate at  _all."_ She fluffed up with anger, which just made him laugh again. "Well you  _can't!_ And I'm just remembering back to the time I used to be  _scared_ of you."

"You should  _still_ be scared of me," she snapped.

"Never," he argued, his voice oozing affection. "I'm afraid you've permanently thrown away that card, Daniels. Ya can't play it anymore. And it was your best  _one,_ too." He feigned disappointment with this. She giggled it away. The two fell quiet, Cameron just continuing to help her get the hang of it. Kay just focused on figuring it all out, and how close Cameron was to her. How warm and comforting just his presence was. The others were left behind— Cameron would do a lap with Kay to help her get her bearings and then he'd go back to them. And besides…it was nice to have this moment. It was nice to…

"If I ask you something, would you be honest?" Cameron asked, softer, and more hesitant, now. She looked at him, concerned. "Would you tell the truth? Or would you just tell me what you think I want to hear? Or what you think would make me happy?"

Her voice was so earnest there was no doubting her sincerity. "I wouldn't lie to you."

He looked back at the ice. "Do you wish it was different?" Immediately, she was sobering. He wished he wasn't so aware of the fact. "Do you…wish  _I_ was different? That I…could take you out like this…more often?" This was their first real time 'out' just doing something fun. And they weren't even  _alone._  It wasn't without slight discomfort, on Cameron's end. "Or…do you wish I…could…?"

"I don't wish for anything." And again, there was no doubting this. He looked back at her, and her eyes were unbelievably soft. She was getting surer on her feet, but she was still holding close to him. Not wanting to stray a single centimeter away. "I have you," she said. Very simply. Very sweetly. "I don't need anything else."

His heart went up in his throat. His eyes stung. His chest burned. He slowed to a stop, and she turned back to him when they did. Everyone around them kept skating, entirely unbothered by whatever was going on with them. His smile was a little watery. He searched her face, and moved to hold her other hand as well. Softly, but lovingly, he confessed: "You're the only reason I thought there was something left to… _anything."_ Pain and love, both horribly equal in strength, broke out over her expression. Though his voice was hushed, it did nothing to reduce the emotion he had when he murmured: "Thank you. Kay Daniels."

"It was my pleasure, Cameron Black," she hummed, positively beaming. She let go of one of his hands purely so she could grab onto his shirt and tug him down gently for a kiss. Both their lips were freezing from the cold, but neither cared. They just stayed together, a lifetime's worth of gratitude and happiness crammed into the seconds-long exchange. Cameron was shining when he pulled away. Kay was just as lit up. When they picked up skating again, she held to his arm, so she could be even closer.

They got back to the others, and Jordan had managed to move about a whopping five feet. Cameron was laughing even before they got close enough to hear him cursing. Gunter was already better, though. Cameron would blame the fact they hadn't gone out skating last year on the fact they were both absolutely  _horrible._ Last year, they'd barely done anything for Christmas. Cameron had barely had the spirit, considering Jonathan wasn't there to complain about how it they'd  _just_ finished Thanksgiving dinner,  _why_ are you already putting the tree up, Cameron? They'd been too sad, then. They'd been missing something too important to celebrate without.

As the thought occurred, Cameron turned. Jonathan was standing a ways away against the wall, watching Dina do figure-eights and very flashy spins. Kay caught Cameron's stare and followed it. When she saw who he was looking at, something far back in her expression changed. But she said nothing. In fact, with a tiny smile on her face, that didn't quite reach her eyes, she let go of him. He glanced at her questioningly, but she only nodded once.

But it was all the encouragement he needed. He left her, and went for Jonathan instead. She watched him go, saying nothing. But her nervousness grew with every foot he put between them. "You gotta move your  _feet,"_ Cameron declared, once he got closer. Jonathan roused. Cameron just grinned more. "That's kinda how you skate. Can't get anywhere if you don't move."

"Ah…so  _that's_ what I've been doing wrong," Jonathan mused. He cracked a grin himself, fondness leaking into his gaze as he looked at his brother. "Here I was, thinking the rink was broken." Cameron laughed. He looked at Jonathan and softened in a way that made him deflate a bit. They held one another's stare and both seemed to grow soberer. Cameron ducked away first, to watch Dina. She was skating over to Kay, who was surer on her feet now, but still wobbling a little uncertainly without Cameron to prop her up. Dina was helping her out, it looked like. "Did you do this?" Jonathan asked suddenly, and Cameron turned back. "Come here, I mean. Last year," he elaborated.

Cameron was quick to shake his head. "No— no, of course not. I…said we shouldn't."

"But you love doing this," Jonathan argued. "You're the only reason we still  _came_ down here, the past couple of years. Sometimes nobody else even  _wanted_ to."

"Yeah," Cameron murmured, looking down as he slid back and forth absent-mindedly. "But…I didn't want to do it without you." Jonathan straightened, his expression flickering. "It didn't feel right. So…"

An unbearable amount of guilt and remorse clouded his features. Or at least, it started to. He tried his best to wave it all away once he noticed it, but it was difficult. "You didn't have to do that, Cam." Cameron only shrugged. "But…thank you. That was…" After a long pause, he tried to start over a little. "I missed you guys a lot, on…I missed  _you._  It never felt right for me, either. Maybe…now, it can—" It died before he could finish the thought. Cameron looked at him, and smiled a sad little grin at the words that, though unspoken, were plainly understood between the two of them. And plainly understood why he hadn't let them build into fruition.

'Maybe now it can feel right again.'

No.

Uncomfortable and strained silence cropped up between the two of them. Before Cameron cleared his throat and very obviously changed topics. "So we're both out of practice, and yet I'm still a better skater than you— that's really sad." He smirked, and Jonathan couldn't help but follow suit.

"…You're not a better skater than me, Cam," he finally gave in.

Sure enough, Cameron lit up like the sun. "Yes I  _am!"_ he snapped, and Jonathan laughed. "Look— we can race." He ignored Jonathan's 'We're not gonna race' and swept on, talking over him. "We're gonna race, and whoever can do the fastest lap gets…I don't know what the winner gets, but at the very least they can get bragging rights, and I  _know_ how you just never wanna  _shut up_  about how great you are, so this'll be just heaven for you." Jonathan rolled his eyes. He jerked as Cameron grabbed his hand and pulled him back towards the others. "Me and Johnny are gonna race!" he crowed, as soon as they got near enough.

Dina was trying to coach Kay how to skate relatively fast and  _not_ faceplant onto the ice, and the both of them looked up in surprise at the announcement. Cameron, still tugging on Jonathan's hand, looked over at Gunter. "Do you want in on this? Or will you die?" Gunter threw him a glare, but it was a lighthearted one. He'd at least gotten off the wall. Jordan was at least not falling in place, like he had been. Baby steps. When Gunter didn't reply right away, Cameron just dismissed him, turning and grinning at Jonathan as he finally let go of his hand. "C'mon, one lap— let's see who's fastest."

Jonathan looked the tiniest bit skeptical. But he couldn't possibly dash away the smile that was on Cameron's face. He wanted to keep seeing it, back where it belonged. So he snorted and rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine." Kay was looking at Cameron with a tiny frown. "But I'm not taking it easy on you," Jonathan went on, and Cameron snickered. "When I beat you, it'll be because you're awful."

"You talk big; let's see you actually  _do something_ , though, for once." Cameron looked over at Dina, who was watching the entire interaction with a soft and adoring smile. "Dina, you say when!" She jerked a little at her name, but recovered fast. The twins moved so they could be shoulder-to-shoulder, at equal starting points. Both of them were trying to stifle genuine grins as Dina began to count. And the second she called out 'Go' they were both taking off. Literally throwing themselves into a sprint as they just tried to get a leg up on the other.

They were clumsy and shaky, at first. Cameron nearly slipped, and right after that, Jonathan almost went sideways and wiped out. But neither of them were willing to let the other get such a starting advantage. They were both laughing, trying their absolute best not to take out other people as they charged. Cameron was already gasping; they weren't even halfway around yet, and he was already feeling the burn of exhaustion. Jonathan wasn't, apparently. He started pulling ahead, tossing over his shoulder: "Slowpoke!"

Cameron grinned and lashed out, grabbing onto his wrist and yanking him back. By some miracle, Jonathan didn't fall, but he did stagger backwards,  _nearly_ slamming into the ice.  _"Hey!"_ he snapped, laughter hiding underneath the angry shout as Cameron rushed to get in front of him.  _"Hey, you're cheating!"_ he accused, and Cameron just laughed breathlessly.  _"This is_ so _not fair, you—"_ Jonathan rushed to catch up with him, jerking so he could elbow him out of his way. Cameron stumbled, but that was it. He just rivaled his brother's shove, even harder. Nearly knocking him off his feet.  _"Cameron!"_ he snapped, struggling to sound angry, and not crack up.

" _Jonathan!"_ Cameron mimicked. The two kept going like that, pushing and staggering and stumbling. Laughing almost too hard to focus on actually skating. Smiling from one ear to the other. The longer they went, the more Cameron began to lag. He couldn't keep up. He managed to do so for about the first two-thirds of the rink, but the last third and he couldn't manage. His legs felt like lead, and with the added effort of dragging them, he wasn't a match for Jonathan. He  _tried_ , but he shouldn't have even really made it  _that_ far. He was pushing it already.

They were almost back to the others, and Cameron was a couple yards back, now. He threw out as much energy as he could, just to try and get at least a little bit closer, so his loss wouldn't be  _as_ noticeable. But apparently, his legs didn't get the memo from his brain. Or, not the correct one, anyway. The moment he tried to quicken his pace, his legs were giving out, and he slipped. He was too far away from the wall to catch himself. When his legs crumpled, he did too, and fell with a tiny squeak. He hit the ice hard, pain lancing up his knees.

Kay was immediately stiffening, where she was at their starting point. She made a move as if to rush for him. But Jonathan was beating her to it. She jerked and came to an unsure halt when he immediately doubled back for his brother, without hesitation. Jonathan skidded to a stop by Cameron, who was trying to catch his breath. "Cameron, are you okay!? Did you hurt anything? Do you need help?" Cameron was grimacing, slowly pushing himself up to at least be in a crouched position. Jonathan hesitated, eyeing him with concern. Before he offered: "I mean…I  _told_ you I wasn't gonna just let you win." He sounded torn on whether or not he should be joking with him.

But after a delay, Cameron snorted. "You haven't won yet." Jonathan began to smile.

"I think the jury's decided," he quipped, and Cameron laughed more. "Are you gonna stay down there all night, or are you gonna get up?" Cameron's smile wilted just a little bit at the question. Though his head was still hung down towards the ice, so Jonathan didn't notice. "If you stay down there, you're gonna freeze," Jonathan pressed. Still, Cameron didn't do anything. His smile began to grow confused. He leaned down a little closer. "Cam…? Are you—" He couldn't finish, before Cameron started laughing.  _Outright_ laughing, like he found something about this to be amazingly hilarious. So hard his sides were splitting, his eyes were watering. Jonathan wasn't exactly sure why he was laughing so hard. But the  _sound_ of his brother's laugh was immediately enough to shake to the core with relief. Made him laugh too. "Get  _up_ , Cameron!" he snapped, and Cameron just laughed harder.

Cameron fell back to sit on the ice, instead. He was still giggling, and sure enough when he looked up at his brother, Jonathan could see the light he always used to have in his eyes. He had  _no_ idea what Cameron found so funny. But he knew looking down at him, that this was the closest thing to the old Cam he had seen since he'd gotten back. So, still chuckling a little, Jonathan's expression softened as he reached down and offered his brother a hand up. Cameron looked at it for a second, like he wasn't sure what the gesture was supposed to mean. But then he grinned and reached up, taking Jonathan's hand gratefully.

And immediately yanking him down as hard as he could.

Jonathan hit the ice with just as much force as his brother had, entirely caught off-guard by the pull. He was winded for a moment, and confused. In those couple of seconds, Cameron was floundering, shoving himself up to his feet again despite his weariness and rushing to finish the stretch. Jonathan whirled, his eyes flying wide with shock and indignation as he scrambled to follow him. Moving too fast and slipping on his way up.  _"Hey!"_ he yelled.  _"Cameron, you're the worst person in the world!"_  he cracked up, on his feet again and giving chase, thought he knew there wasn't a point.

He just listened to his brother's laugh echo back to him. Watched him finish out the race, technically in first, and throw his arms up in the air in celebration. Smiled as the others cheered, all of them caught up in the moment, too happy to remember that there was tension between them. As Kay wrapped her arms around him in a hug, saying something Jonathan couldn't hear.

As Cameron beamed, for once looking entirely and completely like himself.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron grimaced, leaning against the kitchen counter with a flinch and a heavy exhale. He shook his head, trying to clear it. He hurt.  _Everywhere._ You were usually at least a  _little_ sore after ice skating, especially when they'd been out for hours like they'd been. But sore didn't even  _begin_ to cover him right now. He was completely sapped. He felt like someone had re-kicked him in every single rib possible. Even  _breathing_ made his sides hurt. It felt like he'd just finished sprinting as fast as humanly possible for fifty hours straight, with how much his legs were burning. He was five seconds away from  _collapsing_.

He guessed he should have thought ice skating through a little bit more. Realized it was probably too soon for him to be running all around without a single break. Not after months of inactivity, like he'd had. This was too much too fast. He'd put on a grin and bore it until now, but he just needed to get to bed. Kay was probably already there; he'd told her he'd be along, when he was really just wanting a second to catch his breath from walking all the way back here. Now, he was just starting to get it back. Maybe he  _shouldn't_ have started their hours-long-skating-outing by sprinting as fast as he could around the entire rink.

"Cameron?" He closed his eyes tightly at Jonathan's voice. He was hunched over the countertop, and for a second, he stayed there, too winded in the face of straightening. But he forced himself and turned, putting a smile on his face he could feel would not be reassuring. Sure enough, Jonathan looked dismal. He was standing in the entryway, looking at his brother with obvious concern. "Are you okay? You…"

"I'm fine." He voice was just the smallest bit wheezy. "Just…a little tired. I'm going to bed soon, anyway, though, so it's okay. Probably shouldn't have… _jumped_ right into skating." Jonathan's expression was almost too difficult to look at, he seemed so strained. At the sight of his brother breathing so unsteadily from a simple activity. "But it's fine, it's okay," he rushed to add. "I had fun; it was  _fun…_ Jonathan, don't look like that…" He weakened, holding against the counters to make sure he wouldn't waver or stumble. "It was  _nice._ To have everyone back, and to…have fun. And nothing even…went  _wrong_ this time. So don't…" He trailed off.

Jonathan stared at him for a moment more. Before he nodded. "No, I…I get it," he reassured quietly. "I get it. You're right. You're…" he looked him up and down, before he finished: "…right."

Cameron nodded. Silence existed between them for a very long time. "Maybe we can…put the tree up…tomorrow," he offered eventually, hopeful that this would banish some of the discomfort. He was relieved when Jonathan brightened at the prospect, and nodded. Cameron's heart twisted. He remembered all the Christmases they'd had before. Where they'd spend all night watching holiday movies – even the stupid ones on Hallmark, which were Dina's favorite – with hot chocolate and cookies. Jonathan always pretended he hated how 'trivial' it was, but Cameron always knew he'd loved it just as much as everyone else. When they'd decorated and made gingerbread houses. It had always been the best time of the year.

He missed it.

"Well…okay." He drummed his fingers on the counter. Started to force himself to push off and up more to his feet. "Then I'm gonna—"

He blurted it out, speaking straight over him. "After I left, I came back here and I packed." Cameron froze. His expression was completely wiped of emotion as his eyes stayed on the counter. He said absolutely nothing. Jonathan kept going, difficulty in every word. "And Kay came and tried to stop me— she wanted to know where I was going, and she— …she said she wanted to be more to m— …to  _you._ Than just an agent. She wanted to ask if you would come back, and…and I just rejected her." The more he explained, the thicker his voice became. "With both."

The silence was earsplitting. Cameron still studied the woodgrain, but said eventually: "I know."

Jonathan jerked in a bit of surprise. But he wasn't finished. And this was when Cameron started to tense away. "I met up with MW at a bar. I took— …I took the map from you, and we were going to go after it all." He was staring at Cameron, not blinking in the effort to keep any water from welling up. "She…she told me her name." This, Cameron looked up at. He locked eyes with Jonathan, and immediately, there was no looking away again. It was impossible to tell which one of them was more pained. "I left with her— her and…what was left of her team. We…left the country."

Cameron's hand was curling, his fingernails digging hard into his palm. His voice was barely a whisper. "Where'd you go?"

"We…" Jonathan cringed, and ducked his head. "A few places…while…we…figured out the map, we…wanted to… _I_ …wanted to…" The words were sticking in his throat. Cameron refused to help, though, in any way. He just waited. "We…started off just…Mexico. Someplace sunny…with beaches…" Cameron felt sick. He dug into his palm even more. "And— Cameron, I… _wish_ I could say…I felt bad, but I would be lying to you. I didn't, then…I  _hate_  myself for the fact that I didn't, but…" He choked back a swallow. A tear tracked down his cheek, but Cameron felt the same kind of trail mark its way down his own. "Eventually we…wanted to go back to…Reykjavik. At least…for a little bit. And I still…I still just…"

He tried to think about it. He wondered the  _exact_ timeframe. Was Jonathan rejecting Kay when he woke up, turning in confused and scared circles? Was Jonathan sitting with MW at the bar while Cameron ducked out of dinner, hurting too much to eat after the  _first_ time he had intervened on Sawyer's behalf? Was Jonathan on a flight while Cameron was curling away in that cell, hugging himself around the middle and trying to imagine he was back at home? Was Jonathan listening to the ocean while Cameron had been listening to his own voicemail slapping him across the face? Was he laughing with MW when he was turning Sawyer down, smiling as he reassured him that his brother was coming back soon?

Was he looking up at the northern lights the same moment Cameron was looking up at the ceiling of that supply closet?

He was silent for quite some time. Before he rasped: "What were you doing when I first called you?" The first cry for help— and the only cry he gave before there was no turning back.

Jonathan looked like he was going to be ill himself. He stared at Cameron with empty desolation. But answered honestly. "I was watching it ring out." Cameron cringed. He turned away, and Jonathan rushed on. "I didn't listen to the voicemail for a couple of days, I…by the time I did, it…Cameron, I'm so sorry. I'm  _so_ sorry, you…I wasn't thinking, I was just… _angry_ and I was just thinking about myself— if I had  _any_ idea…" Cameron stared off to the side, towards the ground. Biting hard on his lower lip as he felt more tears track down his face. "I wanted you to— …I didn't think for a  _second…"_ Jonathan took in a sharp, shivering breath. "I just thought you would be… _stuck there,_ like I was, so when I got your first message, I just…I didn't really…I thought about you  _more,_ but I wasn't…I figured it just…getting  _even,_ I never  _thought—"_

A few long beats of silence passed. Before Jonathan tried to keep going. "I thought about you more, but I still wasn't…thinking past  _myself._ It wasn't…until I got…your second voicemail, that I…" His voice was so thick now, it was getting difficult to understand him. "That I realized something had gone  _horribly_  wrong, that I realized I couldn't—" He was stumbling, and tried to start over for the umpteenth time. "And when you…when you said that you wanted me back, and that you loved me, and that you wouldn't even talk to me if I didn't want you to, you just wanted me back…it made me…realize that…I was with the  _wrong_ person, that— that despite everything and despite all the problems we've had… _you_ were still the person that cared about me the most, and I just— I  _knew_ I made a mistake, I— I knew I had to come back, I…"

 _Too late._ Cameron didn't say this. But they both knew it belonged.

"Cameron, I can't tell you how  _sorry_ I am," Jonathan whispered. "I can't tell you how awful it was to hear your voice, and to hear it so…how  _torn up_  I was because of the way you sounded on the other end, I…and I made it even worse by waiting for a long time,  _debating_ over  _nothing,_ and…and when I first saw you…" He looked like he wanted to say more, but it just couldn't get out. Cameron's throat was burning. In the moment of it all, his head-to-toe pain was going unnoticed for now. "I can't make up for what I did," Jonathan whispered. "I can't  _ever_ …do  _anything_ that would even  _remotely_ make it up to you. But I  _am_ sorry Cameron. I'm  _so_ sorry. I left one morning early and I took the map with me, but it…it doesn't even matter. None of it does.  _You_ matter to me, and I just— I forgot that…Cam. I forgot that and I'll never be able to make up for the fact that I did. So I'm sorry. Even though it doesn't matter at all…I'm sorry. And I'll do… _everything_ I can to make it right for you, but I'll never be able to, and I already know that."

Cameron said nothing. His chest felt like someone was carving into it.

"I'm the worst brother," Jonathan croaked. "For what I did to you. I'm the worst  _person._ I'm so sorry…"

This was apparently all that Jonathan had prepared to say. Silence followed this last apology. Cameron kept staring dully. Not even blinking, but crying anyway. Just silently so. Jonathan's breathing was a little haywire. He was tense now. Stiff and rigid, as he just waited for something. Anything. He wasn't sure what he would get. He deserved to be yelled at. To be screamed at and tossed aside— he almost  _wanted_ Cameron to hurt him. Because he deserved to. But Cameron didn't snap or hit or anything like Jonathan was expecting. He didn't even ignore him, like he  _also_ deserved to do. The only thing Cameron did, was…

"I…helped another prisoner." Jonathan was freezing immediately. His eyes were widening. He'd never heard his brother's voice sound so hollow and empty. He was opening up…? But— why to  _him?_ Kay had said herself she knew nothing about the situation…realizing  _he_ was hearing it now almost made him as guilty as he was shocked. Cameron wasn't looking at him, to see the expression on his face, though. "He was…being attacked by…this group, I…I just…helped him escape. The way I was gonna help…you. I thought…" His forehead creased, as if he was confused. "I thought…I  _owed_  it…somehow…like…if I helped him…it would make up for the fact I couldn't ever seem to do the same for you..." Jonathan's eyes watered with a fresh wave of tears. He had to bite down on a sob. "But I…ended up…"

There was a very long pause, now. Cameron said nothing else, and Jonathan wasn't going to interrupt. Eventually, he whispered, trying to sound firmer but his voice chipping on each syllable: "I helped him." A tiny, quite declaration. One that wanted nothing more than to be happy, or proud. But just couldn't. Cameron's expression began to break. His lips began to shake, and he started to cry more. His voice was nothing more than a croak when he repeated, a little more uselessly: "I helped him."

Jonathan stared at him mournfully, a horrible kind of puzzle clicking into place. Of course. Of  _course._ Of  _course_ Cameron was trying to help someone else. Of  _course_ that had been the trigger of everything. He knew his brother like the back of his hand— why hadn't he figured that out, yet? Why hadn't he  _realized_ what could happen, before he punched him, before he abandoned him? His brother never wanted to do anything but help other people. All he did was think about others, and forget about himself. And looking at him now, and how tormented his expression was, how much it was exhausting him just to  _stand,_ remembering how bruised and beaten he'd looked before, and remembering him on the floor of the bathroom…it was too painful a realization to put together.

"Cam…" He searched for something to say, but there  _wasn't_  anything. There wasn't anything verbal that could fix this. Cameron was just breaking more and more, beginning to draw back into himself like he was frightened turtle. Jonathan hesitated, but started forward after a heartbeat. Reluctantly, he reached over and wrapped his arms around Cameron again, like he'd done at the restaurant. Cameron couldn't hold back a sob when he felt him, and a small sniff when he turned so his head could bury into his brother's shoulder. He didn't return the embrace. But he  _did_  stand in it, trying to draw comfort from it as best he could. "I'm so sorry, Cam," he whispered brokenly. He felt Cameron shake. "I'm so sorry this happened…I'm so sorry I let this happen to you…"

And maybe it was the fact Cameron was so tired. Or hurt. Maybe it was the fact he'd finally  _gotten_ it out— gotten  _something_ out, even if it wasn't much. Maybe it was just the fact his brother was finally holding him and reassuring him and apologizing to him like he'd wanted for so long— like he'd artificially tried to comfort himself with for so long. But he started crying more. And, brokenly, like he had to Kay what felt like lifetimes ago, he cried: "It was horrible!" At once, Jonathan was flinching as if Cameron had struck him. Jerking and hugging him tighter because of that. "It was awful…" Jonathan was agonized as he listened, crying just as much as his brother was. "I couldn't do anything— I  _tried_ to do something, but— but I couldn't, I—!"

"Shh…" Jonathan held him tighter. "It's okay," he cried. "It's okay, I know you tried, I  _know_  you did, Cam. I'm so sorry…I'm  _so_ sorry…" He fell silent as Cameron just kept weeping into his shoulder. He was biting down hard on the inside of his cheek to try and keep himself composed. To not fall apart. Somehow, he could tell the difference between  _this_ type of crying, and the crying at the restaurant. This wasn't panicked, or fearful. Like he might start having some kind of flashback. This was just mournful. Scared, but only at the memories…not at the threat of them swallowing him up. Just that they were  _there_ in the first place. That was awful enough.

Jonathan held him and rubbed comforting circles on his back. Supported him with ease, because he was so much lighter than he should have been. He held his brother until his crying and tremors began to subside. Little by little, to leave him just sniffing and breathing heavily. It in no way lessened the pain in Jonathan's heart. Eventually, silence was coming back. Jonathan knew he should probably let it. That Cameron would prefer the respite, most likely. That any prying wouldn't be good for him. That he had suffered enough. But he couldn't help it. Jonathan could still hear his brother's anguished cries echoing in his ears. He could hear the broken-hearted voicemail he had left at the bar. And he couldn't hold the question back.

"Who did this to you, Cameron?" he murmured.

At first, Cameron did nothing. But then, with another tearful sniff, he picked himself back up and, gritting his teeth against the pain, stepped away from Jonathan. "It doesn't matter," he croaked. He wiped at his eyes, turning and heading over to the sink. Dina had already washed the dishes that were in there, but she'd had yet to put them away. Cameron started to stack them, just for the sheer  _need_ to have something for his hands to be doing. Something he could focus on other than all of this. Even something stupid.

Jonathan watched the pointless task, his shoulders slumping. "Cameron…" It hurt to push, and he  _knew_ he shouldn't. But he couldn't help it.  _"Why_ don't you want to say? Why don't you want to… _do_ anything— why don't you want him to—?"

"Because I'm  _tired!"_ Cameron snapped. And he meant much more than just physically. But all the same, his glare was already decaying, and he tried to go on in more of a whisper: "Because I'm tired and I want to go to bed, Jonathan." Jonathan's chest was ripping with horrible pain at the look that was on his face, now. As he watched his brother pick up a stack of plates and move to put them in the cabinet, grimacing at the pain it caused in his sides. As he watched him put away dishes. At midnight. In the dark. Just because he didn't want to look him in the eyes. _"That's_ why."

Jonathan kept watching him for a few more moments. Cameron's expression was strained now, and exhausted. He knew the second he left, Cameron would stop, and he would go to bed. Which was what he needed, right now. So he relented, only because he wanted his brother to lay down. Because he could see he had no energy left. In many more ways than just one. "Okay," he mumbled. Cameron kept stacking plates. "I'm sorry…Cameron." The look on Cameron's face only weakened.

For some reason, Jonathan felt like he'd failed…at… _something._ But if he had, Jonathan guessed there was no changing it. Or at least, there was no changing it  _tonight._ "Do you…do you want help? To finish that?" he offered, and he immediately got the shake of the head he knew he would receive. Jonathan just nodded, withdrawing. "Okay." It was quieter, this time. "I'll…just…go to—"

"Where's the map?" Cameron asked suddenly. Not even looking up from the sink.

Jonathan stopped short, turning back, as he'd started to back out of the kitchen. "The map?" he repeated, very dumbly. Cameron was putting away the last of the plates, moving on to the cups. He just nodded once. "It's…in my room, I put it in my desk. It got a little…wet from the rain, but…and I don't know if she…made any copies— she didn't that  _I_ saw, but still. And she might  _remember_ it, but…I made sure to bring it back with me. I…made the decision in the middle of the night. I had to…steal it from Dekker, but—"

A sudden shatter sliced through his words. Jonathan jerked in shock, worry, confusion, and about a million other things. He whirled back to Cameron. His brother had been putting a glass up in its rightful spot in the cabinet, when suddenly he'd just  _dropped_ it. For no reason at all. It shattered on the counter and glass got everywhere. Cameron didn't even look at it; he was still staring at the spot he'd intended for it to go, his eyes much wider than normal. Hollow, with a kind of numbness Jonathan couldn't explain. But he was rushing over immediately, anyway.

"Cameron!?" Glass crunched under his shoes, but he ignored it. He was frozen mid-reach towards his twin, like he wasn't sure if he should touch him. Cameron still didn't react. "Cameron, what's wrong? What happened? What'd— what did I say?"

Cameron just threw the question back. Whispering, like he was scared of being heard. "What did you say?"

"I don't…I don't know!" Jonathan blustered, more confused than worried now. "I said— it's in my desk, Cameron, it's right down the hall. I don't know if she still has a copy somehow, but…but I made sure to get it— Dekker had taken it that morning for something, I needed to steal it from her before I left— she was someone on MW's team— what's…?" Cameron had jerked again, somewhere in the middle of that explanation. Jonathan was going crazy trying to figure out what in the world was wrong.

Cameron stared at Jonathan like he was a deer, and Jonathan was a car barreling down the road at ninety miles an hour. He was holding onto the counter with a vice-like grip. Jonathan wanted nothing more than to rip his hands away. He was going to cut them on glass, if he hadn't already. "Who…?" Cameron stared at him like he'd never seen him before. "Who are you talking about?" Jonathan hardly even  _heard_ the question. Or any of the others, that stumbled behind. "Did I—  _who_  are we talking about? What were we talking about?" He sounded completely winded. Lost. "What did I say?"

Jonathan's face began to fall. "You…Cameron, are you okay? You asked about the map." Cameron was blinking fast, looking down slowly at the mess of glass shards. His forehead was creasing. Jonathan could literally  _see_ the gears trying to turn in his head. It was like he completely forgot what they were even doing in the kitchen in the first place. "Cameron, is something wrong?" His brother was looking everywhere, trying to piece the puzzle together. To the counter, to his hands, to the sink, to the cabinet, to Jonathan. He was going through all of what he said, trying to see what it was that had gotten Cameron to drop everything— literally. Trying to figure out if it even  _was_ something he said.

He started to step closer, reaching out to try and get his hands off the counter, and make sure nothing was cut. "Cameron…here— don't—"

"What happened?" Jonathan turned to see Kay. She was in her pajamas now, her hair damp from the shower she'd left to take. She must have just gotten out; the sound of something breaking must have called her running. She was looking from Cameron to Jonathan. Cameron was still too blank to react much. Her stare lingered on Jonathan for half a second longer, and the smallest sense of reproach seemed to flash in the back of her eyes. The look he gave her in response wasn't defensive, though; it was just lost. A silent plea for help, because he  _truly_  didn't know what he'd done, and he knew she probably did.

In the fact of this, she couldn't linger on her anger for him. She just started to make for Cameron. At the last second, Jonathan threw out his arm to stop her. She shot him a glare this time, not even trying to hide this one. He just muttered: "Cameron dropped a glass— I can clean it up, I just don't want you to step on any of it." Her face fell. She looked down at the ground, seeing that he was right. There were little bits of glass scattered on the floor. She looked at him again, weaker this time. She opened her mouth like she was about to say something, but must have taken it back. She just turned for Cameron, instead. Dropping Jonathan altogether.

"Hey." Her voice was soft. Cameron had been staring at Jonathan, alarmed, like he was worried about something  _specifically_  with him. "Cameron." She said this louder, and it got him to reluctantly look at her. Still with a sense of confused apprehension. "What's wrong?" she prompted. "What happened?"

" _Nothing,_ I just can't…remember if…" He looked back at Jonathan. "Did I say something?" He couldn't get above that rasping whisper. "What did I say?"

Jonathan was mute. He could only stare at him in stunned and saddened silence.

Kay broke through before the look could really register for Cameron. "You didn't say anything, Cameron," she reassured, though she had no idea whether or not that was true. He looked back at her and she smiled again. Always making it brighter, when he actually turned back to see. "But it's late. Let's just go to bed."

Cameron buffered. He was slowly calming back down, but his bemusement was staying. He turned, still blinking a lot as he reached out for the mess. "I…should—"

"I got it, Cam," Jonathan said quickly. Cameron's hands were shaking so much, he was worried he'd get cut just from holding a piece in his palm. His brother stopped short, his face falling. "I'll pick everything up, don't worry about it. You just go with Kay." Cameron was beginning to weaken into embarrassment, now, Jonathan could tell. He was clasping his hands together tightly, looking at the shattered cup and frowning. He lingered for a few moments, like he wanted to fight. But he must have decided that leaving now would inflict less embarrassment than if he tried to assert himself fruitlessly.

Kay put her arm around him and gently led him away. Cameron cast a couple of glances back at Jonathan, still with that odd look on his face. Kay glanced back at him, too. With a mixture of worry and anger. That ever-present anger, that didn't really even need a source anymore, it was just there. Jonathan could do nothing against it. He just stood, watching them go, and then listening to their footsteps fade as they went down the hall. He heard Kay murmuring something to Cameron, but he couldn't make out the words. His chest felt empty as he hoped whatever they were, they were helping more than he could.

It was after a few moments, but Jonathan eventually turned back to the mess. His stare was weighed down. His frown came back. He started with the biggest pieces, picking them up with one hand and putting them delicately into the other. All the while, replaying the scene in his head and wondering what had set Cameron off so quickly. What had been different. What had gotten him so scattered and on-edge. He was worried he'd… _said_ something? But he  _hadn't_  said anything— unless he hadn't meant to let that information about the other prisoner slip? But that was a while ago. That didn't make sense.

It had happened right after he'd mentioned getting the map from Dekker. The instant he'd said her name, he'd dropped the cup, like it was a reflex. Jonathan's eyes slowly started to narrow. He stopped trying to pick up the glass, and just looked at the countertop.  _'Did I— who are we talking about?'_ That second time he'd jerked— he'd done it again when Jonathan had repeated her name, hadn't he? Was that the detail that was wrong? Was it something about  _her?_ Maybe something that had happened while he'd been held hostage by MW? Or…maybe it was something else, it could be because…

Jonathan froze. He'd started to double back for the trash can, but halted before he could actually start for it. He just stopped and stood in the dim kitchen, his heart jumping up to lodge in his throat as he remembered another detail. One he'd almost forgotten, and dismissed. That night he was over, and they were playing cards. He'd wanted to shuffle— only so Cameron didn't have to struggle to do it. He wanted to deal the deck. He'd asked for it, because Cameron had been messing with it like he always did. And…

" _Here, give me the deck."_

The same spasm of shock. The  _same_  flash of surprise and alarm and…fear.

" _What? …What'd you say?"_

The same exact blankness as a result. Not because of the  _person_  the name belonged to. The name  _itself._  Even something  _close_ to the name.

" _The deck. Give it to me; I can be the dealer."_

How dumbly Cameron had looked down to the cards, as if he'd just realized he'd been holding them. The spark in his eyes, as he'd realized what Jonathan was talking about.

" _Oh— yeah. Duh."_

As if there was anything  _else_ he could have been talking about. Because maybe there  _was._ Maybe there  _was_ something else Jonathan could have been talking about, just like there was something else he could have been talking about by mentioning Dekker.

 _Someone_ else. Someone Cameron  _didn't_  want to talk about. Was mortified to.

" _And they—"_

_"They— broke m' hand…I was…tryin' to get them off, but…they held me down, 'nd I couldn' breathe, I…"_

" _I don't know by_ who, _I don't know by_ how many _people,_ I don't know how many times!"

Jonathan's eyes began to widen. He turned to look after Cameron, at the spot where he'd rounded the corner.

When he was in jail, Jonathan had always kept to himself. Mostly. There had been a bubble separating him, conjured by the fact he was different from everyone else in the building. He was innocent. So Jonathan never got involved in  _anything. With_ any _one._ As long as he could help it. But he  _knew_ everyone. Or, he knew everyone there  _was_ to know. Everyone you  _had_ to. He knew who you could go to if you wanted to get something that wasn't offered in commissary, he knew who could always somehow give you a cellphone if you wanted one and could pay the hefty price. He knew people like Winslow, who ran gangs, simply because it was his ultimate strategy to  _avoid_ said cliques, mostly because they were stupid and unfair and just  _dumb._

But admittedly…dangerous at the same time. If you couldn't get around them.

He knew the list of people like that. The more dangerous ones, like Winslow.

He knew the list. Cameron  _hadn't._

There was one— it was… _no,_ he couldn't have…not  _him, not—_ but—

" _He was…being attacked by…this group, I…"_

Jonathan's mind was racing, trying to connect the dots. Beginning to. Lining up the pieces from then, to now. Beginning to figure out and fill in the blanks of the missing parts he  _didn't_ have. Not knowing if he was right, but knowing that if he  _was,_ a  _number_ of things would make a  _whole lot_ more sense.

Jonathan's eyes began to widen.

Until they slowly began to narrow.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize this took some time, I have the time management skills of a rock.  
> I hope you like this chapter! I tried to do it the best justice I could; this is the last actual chapter of Rationale. I've been tempted to add onto it with an epilogue and I have a lot of it written; if people are still hanging around this story I'll continue with it haha. But I was very concerned about wrapping it up here in a way that was fitting so I hope I managed to do so. So I hope you like it! Thank you all for those who have kept reading and leaving such kind comments, you really make all the effort these monster chapters (this guy is 36 pages!!!) worth it <3

He couldn't sleep. Somehow, Jonathan had managed to go to bed at some point. He'd been tossing and turning for ages…never getting comfortable, never being able to truly relax enough or get his mind to slow. When he finally had, he hadn't even really realized it. One moment he was yanking the covers, frustration like acid underneath his skin…the next he was looking at the clock and it was three in the morning. He'd tried to hold onto whatever it was that had done the trick. But no. Once he'd opened his eyes again, the tension was back, and so were the racing thoughts.

Around 3:15 he gave up. He went out to the living room and sat on the couch, trying not to make a single noise. The house was silent; he couldn't ruin that. He drew his legs up to his chest and leaned against the armrest. And just listened. It was strange, how peaceful and just… _different_  this silence was, compared to the type he'd had all those nights at Rockland.  _There_ , it seemed like no matter the hour, if you just stopped and listened hard enough, there was  _some_  kind of noise. Someone coughing, footsteps pacing, people talking. Muted, but always there. It was uncomfortable. The first week, he had maybe gotten twenty hours of sleep in total. It had taken him ages to pick up on the new normal he would have to tolerate.

This silence was familiar. It was warm, and comforting. He heard nothing, but knew for a fact who all was there, and where they were and what they were doing. He knew that Jordan was probably hanging halfway out of the bed by now, but still asleep. He knew that if he went to Gunter's room, he'd hear the snoring he always denied in the morning. He knew where Dina was, and where Cam was, and he knew that in the morning they'd be coming out with everyone else, and it would just be normal.

Or…no, not…not  _normal_. It wasn't normal. Anymore.

He  _wanted_  it to be. But…it wasn't.

He was  _home_. Finally, after a year of sleepless nights, of wanting to be back in this  _same exact spot_  he was right this second…it still felt wrong. When he should just be grateful to be home and with his family, there was still a majority of him that told himself he didn't deserve it. He was… _sad_. That things were different, and too-noticeably so. He was sad that there was effort behind smiles now. He was sad that just  _looking_  at Cameron now hurt, like someone was driving a knife straight through him. He was sad that the sight of Cameron's arm was burned into his mind, and now he had to tell himself over and over again not to look down at his sleeve whenever his brother was even in the same room as him.

He was sad that it wasn't the same. And he was sad that it would likely never be the same again.

His face fell; he curled up a little tighter. As his eyes flickered around the room, he remembered all the movie nights they'd had here, all the parties after shows. All the times they'd sat together at the table and talked and laughed until the sun came up. How Cameron had smiled.  _Really_  smiled. From ear-to-ear. How his eyes had lit up, how he would laugh so hard he would start to cry, sometimes.

Thirty-one years, and Jonathan had known that person. More than 11,315 days he had spent with them. More than 271,560 hours. More than 16,293,600 minutes, and more than 977,616,000 seconds. He knew him like the back of his hand; he knew his quirks, his favorite foods, his favorite colors, he knew the subtlest of changes in his expression, his hopes for the future…he knew his darkest fears. Now that person was gone, and a complete stranger had come to take their place.

Now…Jonathan just had no idea. He didn't know why, when everyone else was talking, he turned to see that Cameron was staring off into space, wearing a kind of expression that Jonathan had never seen him wear, before now. Something so sad and distracted and pained…yet apathetic, at the same time. He didn't know why some things made Cameron tense or grimace— why some things Jonathan said seemed to tip his brother off, or set him on-edge. He didn't know why at dinner Cameron sat there with a tiny, unfamiliar smile, just shifting the food around on his plate to try and make it look more eaten than it actually was.

Kay had practically snarled it, before. Glaring at him with enough hatred to melt him on the spot.

'You tried to throw him away— and you have  _no_ …idea how  _close_  you were to getting  _exactly_  what you wanted.'

She'd been wrong.

Jonathan  _had_  thrown him away. It wasn't  _close_ …it was  _done_.

This wasn't his brother.

He didn't realize his eyes were watering until he felt a tear trace down the side of his face. For a moment he just sat there buffering, like he was trying to wrap his mind around some difficult math equation. Eventually his hand started up to his face, to wipe it away. When a sudden noise interrupted him— sliced through everything. Caused him to spasm in absolute terror the very second it shattered the peacefulness that had been resting over the house. His jerk was so sharp, he fell off the couch, hitting the ground the same moment he realized what in the world it was.

It was screaming.

Not  _just_  screaming.  _Screeching_. A spine-tingling mixture of shrieking and sobbing that would turn any sane person's stomach. Shock froze him in place at first, but once it dulled enough, he was fumbling into action. Horror burned through him as he recognized the voice as Cam's. Of  _course_  it was him, but as he got up and sprinted for his room and he heard it get louder, the fact that it connected just made him panic. He'd  _never_  heard him scream like this before. It sounded like nails on a chalkboard; it sounded like he was being stabbed, like he was being tortured. Jonathan's eyes had been watering before, but the longer the screaming stretched – it didn't  _stop_ , it just kept  _going_  – the more he was crying, just hearing it.

He rounded the corner into the hallway that led to Cam's room, and slammed right into Dina. The collision was so hard his teeth rattled; if she hadn't grabbed onto the wall, she would have been knocked over. He staggered, but hardly felt the slam in the first place. He was just trying to get around her. But before he could start running, she was throwing out an arm and barring his way. She had to yell to even be heard. "Don't!" She was tearing up a little. But her voice was as stable as she could get it.

He did a double-take, staring at her like she was crazy. And she  _was_. "What do you mean  _don't_!?" he demanded, his heart ripping into shreds as he heard Cameron continue to wail. Desperation was written everywhere on his face, as he looked past her. He wasn't thinking as, with more force than he truly expected to use, he started to shove her aside. His anger only mounted when she fought him. "Get  _away!"_ he yelled, his voice breaking into two.  _"Dina,_ he's—"

She was losing the battle, but she was trying her best, grabbing at his arms. She was crying now. "Kay is with him! Kay will take care of him, you can't run in there when he's like this! It—" Jonathan wasn't listening. He finally wrenched away from her enough to rush past, and she flinched the second he did. But she was distracted when she saw Gunter and Jordan running down the hall the same way he had. And instead, she rushed out to at least stop  _them._

Cameron was still screaming. It had only been around thirty seconds, but it felt so much  _longer_. In the tiny breaks he somehow managed to take to at least breathe a  _little_ bit, Jonathan could hear him sobbing. His hands were shaking. He threw the door open in a rush. He practically  _fell_ into the room, but caught himself at the last second. He was planning to sprint the rest of the way inside. To rush to Cameron and see what was wrong, to fix it, to do something for him— to do  _anything_ for him.

But the very instant he was tensing to do just that, he stopped short. His eyes went wide.

Cameron was thrashing from side to side like he was on fire and just trying to put it out. His screaming stayed guttural and horrified, his eyes screwed shut like he actually  _was_ in terrible pain. Kay was leaning over him so she could put her hands against his cheeks. To Jonathan's shock, her voice was controlled and calm. She even managed to sound  _soft,_  despite his brother's incessant screeching.

"Cameron…Cameron, you're dreaming!" He couldn't see her face; her back was to him. However, when she reached out and tried to grab one of Cameron's hands, he could see that she was shaking. She was scared, too. But still, her voice was soothing. "Cameron…" He kept sobbing, kept gasping. She moved one hand to grab his, trying to intertwine their fingers. The other she kept on the side of his face, stroking as a means to get him to open his eyes. "Cam… _sweetheart_ —you're  _okay_! But you need to wake up!"

Jonathan's shoulders slackened. He was rooted in place, just staring.

It took another couple of heart-stopping seconds, but eventually –  _finally_ – Cameron's eyes snapped open. He started to choke on his screams, rather than let them all out mindlessly. He was started jerking, like he wasn't sure where he was or how he was supposed to move. Kay let him gasp for the initial first moments. Before she held his hand tighter and started stroking his face again. "Hey—  _hey_ , shhh…you're okay, Cam…" He stared at her in shock. Jonathan felt like he was going to throw up as he recognized that the sounds breaking through every other sharp inhale were much too close to terrified whimpers.

Kay stayed steady. She moved her hand up to start brushing through his hair. "You're okay; you're home…it was just another nightmare, Cameron, you're safe…I wouldn't let anything hurt you." Jonathan jerked at this, his face falling. She leaned over and pressed her lips to Cameron's forehead. She started to rub his shoulder. "Just a nightmare," she repeated, in more of a whisper. "That's all it was. It's over now."

Cameron's gasps were growing weaker and more strained. His breath was hitching. Kay must have realized what this meant; she reached her arms out to him. Jonathan's heart was in his throat as Cameron rushed to practically cower into her, curling up tight and ducking his head into her shoulder while he held himself desperately to her by her shirt. He wasn't hyperventilating anymore, but the second Kay wrapped her arms around him, he started sobbing. This was just as broken and severe as his screaming had been; it might have even been just as loud, had it not all been muffled. It sounded just as horrible.

Kay just held him to her protectively. "You're okay…I'm sorry, Cameron— I'm so sorry. It's over now. It was just a bad dream, no one can hurt you here…" She paused only long enough to kiss the top of his head every so often. Cameron's crying eased, the more she whispered. His sobs quieted; his gasps lost their panicked edges. He began to relax instead, shifting so that he wasn't burrowing his head into her shoulder to hide…he was just doing it to be close to her. He moved so he could hug her back. He heard Kay whisper: "Do you want me to hold you tighter, or looser?" There must have been an answer. Because half a second afterwards, he saw her pull him closer.

He was calming down.

She was calming him down.

Jonathan heard him say something, but it was too small to make out.

Kay shook her head. "Don't apologize, Cameron," she whispered, kissing him again. "It's okay…everything's fine. I love you." This was said like it was a promise. A vow she wouldn't ever dare to break. Again, Cameron murmured something, and Kay's voice came lighter, the tiniest ghost of a laugh hiding underneath. "Well, I  _do."_ However, she was very quick to sober. She started running her hand up and down his back gently when she asked: "Are you okay?"

Cameron just tucked more into her.

"What do you need?" she whispered. "You can't take any more melatonin…but I can get you something if your headache came back." Jonathan still couldn't hear Cameron. "I could get you some water," Kay kept offering. "If your throat hurts." Another response he was deaf to. "It's…almost four…do you want to try to go back to bed? Or do you want to stay up?" … "I can stay up with you." … "I  _want_ to." … "You might feel better if you slept…you didn't sleep much  _last_ night." … "You could…try telling me about your day again. And be very detailed…last time we did that, you fell asleep before you could get to what you did at  _noon_ , remember?"

Nobody had even realized Jonathan had opened the door in the first place. Now, they were too distracted to. Cameron was recovering from whatever horrible dream he had been stuck in, and Kay was focusing on keeping him  _out_  of that dream, and with her. She was murmuring to him, kissing him, and hugging him, making sure he felt safe. Jonathan watched this with the same look of pain; it was in no way lessened now. In fact, wrapping his head around the situation, it only worsened.

Eventually, he backtracked. He shut the door. And stared at the wood barrier that was now between him and his brother as if he didn't understand the concept. His chest felt empty. He didn't know what to do. When he managed to tear his gaze away, he realized the rest of the team was standing just a few short feet away. Dina was trying to get herself to stop crying, staring at him with an expression so complicated he knew trying to decipher it would be pointless. Gunter looked saddened. Jordan was staring at the ground.

All of them were thinking something different. Silently  _saying_ something different.

But Jonathan didn't care. He only cared about one thing. And now he couldn't reach him.

"Kay helped him," he mumbled, softly, and uselessly. He didn't realize his voice was so choked until he was forced to use it. Suddenly, he was suddenly aware of how wet his cheeks were.

He didn't try and wipe them.

He just repeated himself, his voice as hollow as his chest. "Kay helped him."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He never went back to bed. He couldn't. Even when everyone else recovered and stepped away, he couldn't do the same. He stayed in the hallway, staring at his brother's door. The silence was back, but it wasn't peaceful anymore. It took ages just to turn away, even when Kay had long since stopped talking…a detail he hoped meant that Cameron had fallen back asleep.

But even when he laid back down on the couch, just on the off-chance he would get  _some_ sleep back, his heart had refused to slow. It still hammered against his chest hard enough to hurt— his hands still trembled with the leftover pangs of fright. He heard Cameron's screaming echoing in his ears, still. He couldn't relax, couldn't unwind. The hours dragged by painfully slow; Jonathan quickly abandoned the hope of going back to bed. He paced instead, running his hands through his hair and looking back towards brother's room every other minute, as if he was checking to see whether or not he had to run back. He paced around the kitchen, through the living room, around the table, through the library, up the stairs, back down it, down the hall, to Cam's room and then back, only to do the whole loop again.

He was too guilty to sleep. Too scared to calm down. Too worried to let go.

It was rounding seven when someone else woke. He was in the kitchen, propping himself up against the counter with his head hung low when he heard their footsteps. The second he was looking up, she was coming in. Kay looked absolutely exhausted. Jonathan hadn't realized it before, but she had bags under her eyes. They were dull and her expression was more than strained as she stared off a little into space. She was so distracted she didn't notice Jonathan at first. But the second she did, she was jerking, and quickly stomping away that tiredness. She grew guarded instead, and stopped short. Just staring at him.

His face fell as he straightened. Kay's eyes narrowed just slightly. They just stared at one another.

Neither of them had really spoken since he had come back. He didn't know what to say to her. And he could tell that she wasn't ready to talk anyway. He could feel the looks she shot him when she thought he wasn't paying attention. He could practically  _hear_ the scathing words she was holding back. So that was all it was so far: silent looks. Daggers from her, and sorrow from him. There was so much to say, neither of them had even tried. But now, they were standing across from one another, and the silence was suffocating.

Eventually he forced himself to speak. It was harder than he anticipated. "Was he…I heard…is he—?" Kay said nothing, just staring at him with that hard hint of a glare. He was never lost for words, but now, with her staring him down, he was blank. He closed his eyes and took in a quick breath, shaking his head as he tried to yank himself together. Finally, he got it. "Is he okay?" It wasn't exactly all he wanted to know. But it was the most important part.

A little more reproach leaked into her gaze. Her voice was clipped and short. "What happened last night?" Her voice was absolutely freezing. Almost as cold as her expression.

It took him a moment to realize what she was asking. "I…" He looked back at the countertop, to the place where Cameron had dropped the glass. His face fell. "We were…talking, and he…I think…I think I said something that…" He was silent, before he looked back at Kay. For some reason, he hesitated. But he looked at her tired demeanor, and remembered what she had done for his brother just a few short hours ago. His stomach tugged. He just doubled back and asked: "What happened after…?"

For a second he was worried she would dismiss him. Maybe she deserved to. But something in her expression changed, and she looked a little off to the side when she  _did_ reply. "He was upset," she started. "And confused. He kept asking me if I'd heard what he said— asking me  _what_ he'd said." Jonathan's chest constricted. After a very long gap of absolutely nothing, she growled: "He hasn't had a nightmare that bad in  _ages_." Jonathan flinched. Her voice sharpened when she repeated: " _What_  happened?"

He wasn't sure what to say, but, maybe thankfully, it was falling out anyway. "I…I told him. What I was…doing, with…" He risked a glance back up, and he saw the glare he knew he would be getting from her. There was no doubt in his mind that she was only going to get angrier the more he went on. But he did anyway. "I told him that when he called me the first time…I watched it ring out. I told him where I went…but I also told him how sorry I was. How I wanted to make it up to him…that I knew nothing I did would ever be enough, but that I would try anyway."

This next part, he hesitated over once more. His throat was getting hotter, and his eyes were stinging. "He, uh…" He coughed, to try and clear his voice, but it didn't do much. He kept it to nothing much above a whisper. As if he was worried Cameron would overhear them talking. Then again, something told him that Kay wouldn't have come out here if she wasn't absolutely certain he wouldn't wake up in her absence. "He told me…why." She was immediately stiffening, and Jonathan flinched, rushing to amend: "N-Not… _why,_ there's no— I just meant…he told me why…it…"

" _Why?"_  She wasn't glaring at him, anymore. All her anger was gone in an instant. All her exhaustion was, too. She'd bolted up, and now she was just staring at him with something akin to desperation. Her hands were clasped in front of her, in a mix of anxiety and shock. He was taken aback by the sudden turnaround, and the intensity that was in the singular word.

He remembered his question from before, scathing and angry.

' _Do you know who did this— did you even think about trying to figure it out— did you even care enough to get the son of a bitch?'_

Looking at her now, he felt guilt slap him across the face.

Of  _course_ she wanted answers. Just as badly as he wanted them. She just had the logic and the care not to press, or ask him. She'd simply known better. Now, at just the  _chance_ of finding out  _anything_ at all, she was alarmed, desperate, shocked, saddened, angry, and too many other things to list. All in a flash, it was there on her face, and in that one word. She didn't need to say anything else. Already, it beat Jonathan over the head so hard he had to stop and collect himself before he could even try to elaborate.

Thankfully, he had enough wits about him to…censor.

"He was…apparently there was a…there was another prisoner at Rockland that was being… _targeted_ …by a group of people. Cameron… _saw_ it, and…" His voice broke a little bit when he said weakly: "You know Cam…" Kay's face fell. She'd already begun to weaken, but once this was said and understanding started to dawn over her, she was starting to look sick. Wearing the look Jonathan had when he'd connected Cameron's selflessness to the situation. She had the same kind of… _unsurprised_ surprise. The same horrified realization. "He…apparently… _helped_  him, and…because of that…the group…"

Kay blinked, looking away from Jonathan to glance down the hall. Her face was ashen.

When she looked back, her eyes were misty. She said nothing.

Something told Jonathan that he had said enough. She'd asked what had happened last night, and he had told her, so there was nothing else he needed to do. But his stomach was still twisting. His eyes were still prickling. He kept going. He couldn't stop himself. "He…got upset. And I…asked him…who'd…" Her eyes went even wider. Her loathing towards him was nowhere to be found. She wasn't even upset that he knew this when she hadn't, which was what he'd almost expected. Her only thought was—

"He told you a name?" The question was barely whispered.

Jonathan stared at her, his mouth halfway open. He managed to shake his head. His voice was distant when he managed: "No, not…" Kay's hope was dying just as fast as it had come. "No, he didn't tell me a name. But…but…I  _think_ …I know." The last two words fell like rocks. She jerked like he'd slapped her across the face. Months of wondering, of holding him through panic attacks, not knowing  _who_ was responsible reflected back at him. Suddenly, the person she likely despised the most at this moment was offering her an answer to the question that had been eating her away. Had kept her up countless nights.

"You—" She glanced over her shoulder again before she walked closer. It only took a couple of strides to be even with him. She was staring at him with the same intensity she had stared at him with in the interrogation room. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. He had to look away. "You  _know?"_ she echoed. He paused. She wasn't in the mood to wait. "You know who did it?" The shock was fading fast. Now it was being replaced with something much  _angrier._ In fact, angry didn't even begin to cover the emotion that was crawling over her expression. She was  _livid._ She was  _enraged._

She looked fit to kill.

"I…" Jonathan's jaw was setting back. His fist was curling tighter. "I think so."

" _Who?"_  The singular word was flat enough to flip a coin on.

He shifted. Took in a deep breath. "Last night, I mentioned…Dekker. The…woman on MW's team. I was just…answering a question he asked, and she happened to come up. But the second I  _did_ …that was when he just… _shut down._ He was putting that glass up into the cabinet, but the second she was brought up, he dropped it. He looked terrified. He kept asking who were talking about. I told him, I… _reminded_  him she was someone who worked with MW, but…he still looked like he was expecting something else, like…like that wasn't right, like it wasn't what he was worried about." Her eyebrows were slowly pulling together. "I was confused, until I…remembered that the  _first_  night I came back here. I'd asked for the deck of cards, and he reacted the  _same exact way._  I've never seen him look so terrified. And I've been with him…"  _through everything._ He couldn't get that part out. He just trailed off, instead.

She stayed expectant.

"At Rockland, there are…a handful of gangs you can't cross." His voice was getting flatter, too. His eyes were getting flintier. "I was never involved— some of them  _wanted_ me to 'join.' But I steered clear of them. They were just excuses to…" Words left him. He shook his head and started over. "The couple of times I had to get involved with any of them, it was always a pain. More trouble than I wanted to get into. I always knew how to get out of it, though." Kay's anger and confusion was mounting the longer it was all danced around. It was getting to the point where there was no more room to dance, though.

He was starting to feel his skin crawl the very second he started to actually explain. "There was one, though…that I  _never_ came into contact with. That  _most_ people didn't come into contact with, if they could help it. This group…they would… _target_  other prisoners. Anyone they picked— they made their lives hell. If you were new, if you crossed them…it didn't matter. Everyone knew it…the  _guards_ knew it, they just always looked the other way. They had the reign." Kay's scowl was deepening fast. "I never wanted to know. It was easier not to.  _Safer._  But I'd see some people sometimes…and I just knew they weren't as smart as I was.

"I never did anything. I knew what would happen if I did." He felt resentment and guilt like a stone in his gut. "But… _Cameron_  didn't. He must have seen someone and…didn't realize what might happen— he probably wasn't even  _thinking_ —" He pressed his lips tightly together. There was another very long pause. Before he got out through halfway-gritted teeth. "The leader of that group's  _name_ …is Decker." Already, even without true confirmation, the mere name was enough. It made his blood boil, it made him feel like he wanted to tear right out of this place and hunt him down.

Kay needed nothing further. Her voice was just a growl. "Decker." Layers upon layers of acid practically corroded the name. "Like the woman from MW's team." Coincidences were few and far between. This entire time, they had been trying to do a puzzle without a picture to look off of. They were just grabbing pieces that looked kind of similar and tried to mash them together. Tried to figure out what the heck this was supposed to look like. Now, they might have a picture. They could look at this, and look at their puzzle, and they could see that some of the parts lined up. Some of them led to others. With this, they could take things that were confusing and see an outline. And outline that made sense. Connected.

If this wasn't right…it was one  _hell_ of a coincidence.

"Cameron didn't give me a name," Jonathan repeated. "But…I think he might as well have."

She was silent. Her eyes clouded with thought. But mostly, they just clouded in anger. The more she thought, the more she began to scowl, the more she started to lock her jaw back and clench her hands. She looked the exact same way he felt. Like she wanted to rush out these doors and go straight back to Rockland. When she looked at Jonathan, there was no sense of barely-controlled hatred like there had been every other time she'd looked at him since he'd returned home. There was no distrust, or resentment. She just searched his face, and asked a curt: "How sure are you?"

"I'm… _ninety-five_  percent," he offered.

Her eyes flashed. Her eyes narrowed all over again as they flickered around the room. Her mind seemed to be going a million different places at once. Jonathan could see her gears turning; he could see her only get more and more furious. The silence was stretching on for too long. He opened his mouth to say something, when he snapped it shut immediately at the sound of footsteps. He looked up and Kay whirled around the second that someone else came into the room.

Gunter did a double-take at the looks on their faces. No doubt they looked guilty. His eyebrows pulled together; he looked like he was wracking his brain for what to say. But Kay was already turning away. Jonathan was looking back down at the ground. Their split was abrupt, but it spoke enough volumes. Gunter was left to reluctantly take the hint. Jonathan didn't look at him; however, his eyes did flicker up to Kay. He realized she'd stopped at the edge of the room. She was hesitating, and looking straight at him. His grip on the counter tightened again. Neither of them said anything; they just held the other's gaze.

The expression on her face was impossible to decipher.

Or maybe Jonathan just didn't want to.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

He was still in the kitchen when Cameron got up. When he heard the footsteps come back in, he thought it was Kay again. It was late…around noon. He wasn't sure where Kay was. He knew Dina and Jordan had gone out to shop. He knew Gunter had walked by earlier and said he was going back to his room to sleep more…apparently he'd had trouble going back to sleep just like he had. But it was Cameron staring at him, when Jonathan roused. He stiffened a little. Neither of them sad anything. Cameron looked exhausted, and all Jonathan could think about was his screaming from earlier.

Eventually, Jonathan blurted out a stupid: "Good morning."

Cameron hesitated, before he mumbled: "Good morning." The pair stared at each other, again with foreign discomfort. Cameron started walking into the kitchen. He was frowning, and the way he walked somehow made him seem very small. Jonathan glanced at the ground. Cameron closed his eyes in a wince and wrung his hands together a little before he started to try weakly: "Jonathan, I— about last night…"

"Don't worry about it, Cam." He looked back up and offered him a smile. Cameron's face fell; his shoulders sagged. "It was…wrong of me to ask what I did. I shouldn't have said anything. And…nothing happened. It's fine." Cameron still seemed doubtful. Jonathan shook his head, feeling his stomach twist. "Really, Cam, I…didn't think twice about it." The lie burned his tongue. "Forget it even happened."

He was still reluctant. But after a second, he gave a couple tiny nods. "Okay…" He chewed on his lower lip, glancing behind Jonathan. "I…did I…wake you up…last night?"

Jonathan could see something like embarrassment on his face. Hear it in his voice. So the reply was reflexive. "No." He feigned confusion. Hoped it came across better than he felt like it did. "Did something happen?"

Cameron was silent. The way he looked at him, Jonathan could tell he knew he was lying. But he didn't correct it; he just went along. He shook his head. "No, it's…" He trailed off. He glanced behind Jonathan again, and that embarrassment just began to grow and become more obvious. Jonathan started to ask what was wrong, when his brother said weakly: "You're…standing…" He jerked, glancing behind him in confusion. He didn't know what he meant but stepped to the side anyway. Cameron moved fast, like he didn't want Jonathan to see, when he reached out and grabbed an assortment of pill bottles that he hadn't even realized had been behind him. He grabbed up four.

Jonathan's heart sank. He said nothing, but the pain must have been way too obvious on his face, because Cameron was quick to duck away the second he glanced at him. "I…" He seemed like he wanted to say something. Or he was wracking his brain to try and figure  _out_ what to say. But his need to rush away seemed greater. He hunched over even more. Seemed to get even smaller. "I'll be right back," he mumbled. Jonathan opened his mouth to say something, but Cameron was already rushing away. Holding the medication to his chest, as if it would make it less noticeable. Jonathan's face fell. He sagged back against the counter.

Stared after his brother mournfully, and felt much emptier than he had before.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron stared, his eyes dull and expression pained. He didn't make a habit out of looking at himself. Or even walking past mirrors in the first place. He knew he looked awful…he didn't need the actual  _proof._  It was  _weird_ to see his own reflection; he didn't recognize the face that looked back at him. After going so long without eating, and now that he still couldn't eat very much, he looked gaunt…sick. The shadows under his eyes were so dark they might be able to pass as bruises. His cheek bore that thin white scar, about two inches long, maybe a little bit more. There were no more bruises around his throat, but he was paler than normal; his eyes were dull and apathetic. There were just waves of fatigue coming off him. He imagined that whenever anyone looked at him, they got the sudden urge to lay down and sleep.

He just looked horrible. Not at all like he used to. He was someone completely different.

Kay walked up behind him. Once he saw her in the reflection, and she saw his eyes flicker to her, she laced her arms around him, hugging him from behind and settling her head on his shoulder. Her expression was openly fond. Cameron tried to give her a smile, but it was too pinched and weary. She snuggled into his neck a little more. "You okay?" she murmured. He didn't answer at first; she went on, soft and gentle. "You have that look on your face."

"What  _look?_ I don't have a look," Cameron objected. "I never have a look."

Kay's smile was weaker now, but still endearing. " _Yes_ , you do," she argued. "It's that look that tells me you're overthinking again. That you need a hug…and someone to snap you out of it." Cameron cracked a tiny grin. But it was quick to fade, and he just deflated once more, looking at himself with that heavy expression. Kay looked from him to the mirror. She frowned. "…You okay?" she repeated. More solemn. He smiled again, but this time it didn't reach his eyes. "What are you overthinking now?"

He shook his head. "It's not important." By now, his eyes were flickering away.

She wilted. "Cam…" He still averted his eyes.  _"Cam."_ He looked back at the mirror, to her, and she beamed adoringly. "You're  _beautiful,"_  she declared. Immediately, he grumbled, a mixture of embarrassment, skepticism, and subtle affection brewing over his face. He looked away; she hugged him a little tighter as she insisted: "You  _are,_ Cameron. You're handsome."

"Okay," he scoffed, moving to start ducking out of her grip.

She began to loosen her hold, but very mournfully. "Cameron…"

"E _nough,_ Kay, I'm just…" He started to try and move around her, but stopped when he accidentally caught her eyes. She was frowning, earnest and sorrowful. And injured he would dismiss her so easily. She looked unbelievably sad. Sad enough to cause him to hesitate, despite how much he wanted to just leave. His heart tore with guilt. He weakened and sighed, his shoulders loosening with a tiny shake of the head. "I'm sorry, I just…not…right  _now_ ," he attempted, his words lifeless. "Not…when…I'm…" He gestured. Not to anything in particular, just to…everything.

Kay's head tilted. She moved, switching their places, so that she was standing in front of the mirror, and all he could see was her. She reached out to put her hand against his cheek, drawing her thumb over the scar that was there. "You're  _perfect,"_ she objected softly. He made a face. She pulled him in closer, taking care to be slow. "You  _are."_ She kissed him. It was a quick and light. So much so, Cameron didn't really have the time to react. Her eyes were shining when she withdrew. "I love you.  _So_ much."

He searched her face, feeling a pang in his chest. She could see that he was nowhere near persuaded. The doubt highlighted in every feature was  _heartbreaking_ , to her. Her smile lost a bit of its light, but all the same, she stretched up the tiny amount of height difference they had, to press her lips against his once again. Only, this time, she lingered. For a few seconds he was absolutely still. She was about to pull away, worried she'd overstepped a line. But then he moved. She felt his arms wrap around her waist. He leaned into her, starting to meet each kiss with his own heartfelt one. She ensured each were soft and slow. Her other hand rose to knit into his hair— another newfound habit that seemed to be cementing.

The gaps that existed between each exchange were longer than normal. In each pause, their foreheads rested together and they could just appreciate the other being so close, their mere presence reassuring. It was during one of these gaps that Cameron spoke. But it was only to return a soft murmur of: "I love you, too." Like he was worried she wouldn't realize. Even though she already knew very plainly. Still, the confession made her heart ache. Love and adoration melted over her face, and Cameron was quick to follow her lead. He couldn't possibly not.

Kay moved her other hand down to rest against his side, and her fingers curled into the jacket he was wearing. She pulled him even closer. Somehow, she stayed aware enough to do so in a way that left him able to pull back if that was what he wanted. But it was difficult; kissing him like this, she got to thinking about less and less. Everything else didn't seem as important the more he pressed against her, the more he delved his fingers back through her hair. Just him by himself was all it took.

"You're so beautiful…" Her sentiments were carried out in whispered exhales, fervent and breathless. Snuck in between kisses, in the silences that were gradually growing shorter. Eventually, barely getting out in time before she was drawing him in for another. "You're absolutely perfect…" She could feel his flushed smile…the way it grew. It was the only encouragement she needed. "I love you so much…" He held her tighter, kissed her harder. Without thinking, Kay started forward, slowly guiding Cameron until his legs hit the edge of the bed. He stumbled, and pulled her down with him, so they both fell back.

The trip wasn't hard, but Kay fell on top of Cameron and pinned him to the mattress. Their lips stayed locked, and this position gave Kay more leverage to kiss him as deeply as she wanted. It would allow her to knit both hands up into his hair, or run them down his chest; it took a significant effort to keep herself from immediately doing both and more. Thankfully she managed to retain enough caution to hesitate. "Are you okay?" The question was soft— just an exhale. She was aware there wasn't any space at all between them anymore. Cameron was silent; her hand ran down his side soothingly. "We can stop..."

The moment she was considering withdrawing just in case, Cameron was pulling her back down to him. He guided her lips to his with one hand, and his other began to trace down the side of her neck. She was taken a little aback by the force he used, and  _kept_  using as he pulled her down even more. The way he kissed her now, it was almost like he was desperate. Rushed enough to come across almost as clumsy. Hard enough to bruise. The shift was sudden, but she was quick to match. To get even closer, and kiss even fiercer. To only manage tiny gasps between them now, because so little time was left for air.

He pulled his fingers back through her hair, and a resounding shiver lanced down Kay's spine. She pressed down flush against him in response. Her caution being forgotten, she shifted, moving her hips down against his. He held tighter to her, arching with a gasp that was cut off when their lips mashed back together. The noise was immediately one Kay wanted to hear again; she rushed to press even closer to him, with even more force, and melted when that breathy sound wrenched its way out of his mouth a second time. It wiped away all thought. She was only thinking of what she could do to elicit those noises, to earn those reactions. But suddenly Cameron turned his head to the side, cringing as he ended up pressing his forehead against her arm. " _Wait_ —" he choked out.

She did immediately. Her heart sunk, but she did. She tried to regularize her breathing, painfully aware of how heightened it was by this point. Cameron's own breathing was faster than normal, but it was also more punctured as well. His eyes stayed closed, and he stayed tucked away, like he was hiding. His hand had moved down at some point to be against her side; she could feel his grip was tighter. His lips were pressed into a hard line. He was breathing harder through his nose. He didn't say anything else.

"Are you okay?" she breathed. He said nothing; he just kept his head against her arm. He'd been bordering on the edge of hyperventilation, but he was gradually getting his wind back. His breaths were still fast, but they weren't as shallow or as hitching. Kay waited, still not moving. His hands were shaking. When he finally looked back up at her, it was with unease. He looked frightened, but frustrated at the same time. She saw all of this, and she was fast to try and compose herself. She closed her eyes, leaning down so their foreheads could rest against one another's again. "We can stop," she repeated. Gentle. Kind. Soothing.

"I…just…" Cameron floundered. Hesitantly, his hand rose up to rest against the side of her neck. He stared at her for a long moment, a certain amount of pain on his face. She just reached down to brush his bangs lovingly to the side, shaking her head as her smile grew. This tiny, wordless sentiment seemed to do something for him. Because as their eyes met again, she could see resolution in his. He started to scoot back. She pulled away at once, letting him go and trying not to acknowledge just how much her heart was hurting when she did.

But she didn't have long to feel the pain. Cameron wasn't shifting so he could stand. Rather, keeping his hand against her neck, he began to twist so she was against the mattress instead. The moment she realized this, she complied, until their positions were flipped and he was looking at her with a clear question on his face. Silent, she reached up to thread her fingers into his hair, her smile staying steadfast.

Cameron closed his eyes and ducked down, so that his head could press into the crook of her neck. For a while, he just concentrated on her softness, and the smell of her perfume. The gentle way her hands were running through his hair, and the feeling of her breath soft against his skin. Before he took in a deep breath and returned to kiss her again. She hesitated at first, her lips still against his as she wondered whether or not this was wise. But her apprehension waned the more Cameron kissed her. She relaxed again, right along with him, and began to rise up to meet him, growing surer with every one.

Between each exchange, she started to whisper again, tiny reassurances this time. They were soft and wavering, with how much breath she had lost; but they were there all the same. "It's okay…I love you…we're okay…" Her hands had a mind of their own. They trailed down from his shoulders, slipping up underneath his shirt simply so she could feel more of his skin against hers. Cameron hissed shakily into her mouth at her feather-light touch. She could feel the faint outlines of his ribs under her fingers, but she could also feel his heartbeat, fast and skipping against her own. She could feel his breathing, and how elevated it was. She could feel those too. She loved him so much, her heart ached. She loved him so much her eyes stung. She held him tenderly, and kept murmuring, just as much so. "I've got you…don't worry…it's okay…"

Her hands slipped back, and, still half on auto-pilot, she grabbed the shoulders of the jacket he was wearing and started to pull it down and off of him. This made him stutter again, once he realized what she was doing. And, again, he ducked his head, breaking away from her. Kay stilled. For a moment, it was silent, the both of them just holding to the other and gasping softly for air. It seemed like ages before he spoke, but it could only have been around a few seconds. "Kay, I…" He grimaced, picking his head back up only to press his forehead back to hers. For them to mingle back together, if only for this. His voice was saturated with something close to frustration. "I… _want_ you…" The three words caused her chest to bloom with affection and desire. But it was fettered when he continued to gasp: "I…just…" Again, blanking.

Her hands left his jacket for the time being. Went back to his face so she could hold it the way she always did. So she could kiss him long, and she could kiss him slow. Making sure to be gentle, and loving. When it ended, she didn't pull away completely. When she withdrew, it was only the tiniest of millimeters. Just enough so they could breathe, and that was it. Her voice was only a whisper, barely enough to constitute as anything over a pant when she murmured against his lips: "Let me make you feel safe."

He exhaled heavily, the breath trembling on its way out as he closed his eyes and curled closer to her. He said nothing, but moved so that he could kiss her again. She smoothed her thumbs across his cheeks and laced her hands back— one going up into his hair again and the other moving to the back of his head. His lips traced her jawline, before they found her neck. She arched against him as he kissed down towards her collarbone. She went back to his jacket, starting to ease it off again. This time, he didn't react badly. And when the clothing was pulled off enough, he shrugged the rest of the way to toss it to the side.

He wasted no time before returning to her, quickly, like the only way he could breathe again was if his lips were against hers. But she was just as driven to have him back. They were both desperate, both aching. He was just doing everything he could to lose himself in all of Kay's details. The feel of her hair, of her skin, of her gasps against his. He didn't remember the last time someone had made him feel like this— like the entire world had screeched to a stop and the only thing that mattered was the way their lips were mashing together. He'd had one night stands, small relationships that hadn't meant too much. But nothing like this. Nothing that winded him this much, that slapped him this hard across the face.

She'd stolen one of his shirts, this morning. She was doing that more and more, lately. Cameron never complained. The first time she'd had a reason— she'd run out of her own shirts and they'd just fallen behind on laundry, which was a very valid excuse. But eventually the excuses got flimsier and flimsier, until it came to now, and there just wasn't any explanation given at all. She just  _stole_  his shirts. He had a surplus of them, though…it was fine. A part of him was touched, even, somehow.

But suddenly, he was cursing the fact that she'd swiped one  _today,_ because  _now_  he had to fumble with all the buttons. They were too small and there was too many; he couldn't focus enough to even see what he was doing. If he stopped kissing her for a couple seconds, it would likely be much easier, but he didn't have the will, and by now her arms were locking around the back of his neck and keeping him rooted anyway. He'd managed half of the them, so far. The lower he got, the harder it became. He opened his eyes to sneak a glance down and actually see what he was doing. But once he did, he stopped short, weakening when his eyes got stuck.

His stomach clenched as he saw the 'S' on his arm glaring back at him.

The injury was a more purple-red, by now. It wasn't as angry as it had been before, or as irritated. It was paling over, and, hopefully soon, it would lose the color altogether and it would be a  _little_ less noticeable. But for now, it still demanded attention. And he couldn't rip his eyes off it. His stomach started to turn as he just looked down at the injury; his mind was spluttering. In a much different way than it had up until this point. His face fell, his hands stilled.

Kay kissed his cheek, not realizing yet why he had ducked away from her. He still didn't do anything; he just kept staring when she began to pepper kisses down his jaw and tugged him closer. He grimaced, shifting when he realized just how much pressure was around his neck. He knew it was stupid, he  _knew_ it wasn't the same, that it was around the  _back_ of his neck and not the  _front_ , but it was still making his skin crawl. He was listless as Kay pulled him back down. When she began to leave hard, open-mouthed kisses on his neck, he just kept staring towards his right arm.

His face had fallen at first, but now his expression was growing with discomfort. He was gritting his teeth a little more, setting his jaw back. When Kay went back up to kiss him hard, he felt a pressure start to build up in the back of his throat. She got her hands underneath his shirt again and she was trying to ease that off just like she had his jacket. He closed his eyes in a small flinch, his fingers curling in to dig his nails into his palms. He opened them again, and again, they were focused down on the wound. His unease was multiplying on itself, and his lips started to shake.

He cringed when his shirt was taken the rest of the way off, and once it slipped over his head, he curled his arms closer to his chest, still looking at it with an expression that was empty but somehow also crowded with apprehension. He curled more into her, and just flinched as she started to run her hands over his chest. The pressure still built in his throat, like a bottled-back scream he was barely managing to keep at bay. He gritted his teeth against it, keeping everything behind that barrier as best he could.

He tried to keep his face blank; tried to just ignore it. He tried to ignore the way his eyes started to prick and burn, or the way his lungs were trying to get him to start breathing faster. He held his breath; he didn't blink. He didn't  _want_  to. What he  _wanted…_ was to make Kay happy. He wanted her to be happy. He could remember her face from before, when he'd broken away…he remembered how she had looked at him, even when she'd reassured him that everything was okay. She'd lied to him, then. He knew she had.

He  _knew_ it had mattered to her when he'd cut it short.

And he also knew…that even if he didn't  _want_  to…he could suffer through it.

He knew those two things could go hand-in-hand.

_Calm down._ He bent low and hid his face in her shoulder. Tried to swallow back everything and kiss down her neck again. But his lips were shaking, and it was much more tentative than it had been before. He wanted to grab his shirt back— he suddenly felt cold and exposed, he wanted his  _jacket_ back, and his arms twitched out like he was going to try and get them. But at the last second he literally forced them back down and pressed his hands hard into the mattress, instead.  _Calm down, calm down, it's different, it's_ different. Kay's hands left his chest only so she could guide his head up and kiss him again. Suddenly it was taking conscious thought to make his lips move against hers.  _Calm down calm down calm down—_

Still kissing him, Kay started to fumble with his belt. His heartbeat was loud in his ears, and his head was starting to cloud with panic he was doing his best to ignore. Against himself…he was going back to the inner mantra he'd had stuck in on the floor of that closet. All of the things he had told himself to try and make it better even though there was  _no_ making it better.  _You're fine, it's fine, everything is going to be fine— it_ can't  _be much longer, you just have to last just a_ little _longer._ He cringed when he felt the belt pull away, and the waistline of his jeans practically fall away along with it.  _Five more minutes, it'll probably just be_ five _more minutes. You can do that. And if you do_ those  _five minutes, you can make it through five more._

She was taking it upon herself to do the last few buttons he hadn't been able to manage, on her own shirt. Don't  _do anything,_ don't  _hit, I know you want to but you_ can't,  _hold it_ back.  _Just don't think about it. Think about something else— think about_ anything else. She went back to kissing his neck and he turned, pressing his forehead down into the mattress beside her own. He closed his eyes and bit down as hard as he possibly could, holding back his cry at the pain it incited as he focused on that instead. He bit down  _hard_ on his lower lip, and when that pain beganto dull over, he was biting on the sides of his cheeks. Within seconds, he could taste blood.  _Relax, you— I want to get up I want to get up I want to run away I— it'll be so much easier if— stop, get off of me, get off get off get— it'll be so much easier if you just_ relax _, it won't_ hurt  _as much if you just— GET OFF OF ME GET THE FUCK OFF OF ME GET OFF GET THE FUCK—_

Kay was working her fingers underneath the waistband of his jeans, leaning back to try and recapture his lips. When she realized that he was ducked away, and suddenly very still. It took a couple of seconds for her to buffer. Her breathing was nothing but gasps, and her thoughts were scattered completely. But when she realized he wasn't there to kiss her back, she was stuttering, and that pause was all she needed to recognize that something wasn't right. Cameron was tense; she realized he was all but burying his head away. And even when she hesitated to try and see what was wrong, he wasn't moving at all, or even picking up his head. He wasn't even  _breathing…_ he was holding his breath.

It didn't take her long to connect the dots. And the very instant she did, she was hit over the head with guilt and alarm. She withdrew immediately and hugged him instead. He tensed even more. "Cameron…" Her voice was still breathless, but she was trying to steady it out regardless. Trying to rebuild the foundation that had crumbled away. "Cameron, are you alright?"

He didn't pick his head up, but after a second he moved. The way he did was slow and reluctant, his motions twitching like he was a robot in the middle of breaking down. Like he was  _forcing_  himself. And he  _was._ She watched with something close to horror as, wracked with tremors, his hands went down to her jeans, too, and the button that was there. "I'm fine." The fear was barely bottled back, but it was shaking underneath every single word. The horror on Kay's face just grew when she could see his strained expression. She could see that he was trying to keep his lips from trembling. He was trying to keep himself from crying, too. Still, he choked out: "I'm fine."

Kay tried to grab onto his arms to stop him. "Cameron—"

"I'm fine, I'm fine!" he insisted, his voice crumbling. His expression fractured, but he kept trying. But his hands were shaking too hard to manage the simple feat. "I can do it, I can—"

Kay grabbed his arms a little tighter, attempting to be more forceful and push them away. "Cameron." Her voice was getting harder, and flatter.  _"Stop."_

He struggled to fight her. His shoulders were shaking, and he was losing his battle on not crying. He tried to twist out of her grip and keep going, even though she was trying to scoot back more and sit up again. It just made him more upset. "I'm sorry, I— I'm sorry I can—"

"Cameron."

He got the button undone, flinching as he leaned out and tried to kiss her again. She turned her head, but he was too blind to notice anyway; he was just kissing her wherever he could, if it could even be called kissing, considering he couldn't get his lips to do much anyway. Guilt and sorrow built up in Kay's chest, and it only got worse the more he tried. "I'm sorry, I can do it it's fine!" He was sobbing now. She drew the line and grabbed hold of his wrists to yank them away; it just made it worse. "I can do it I can—"

" _Cameron."_

"It doesn't  _matter_ , it doesn't matter, I don't matter, I can—"

" _Cameron!"_ She screamed this, and it immediately made him cower away. He screwed his eyes shut, cringing as he ducked his head. His hands curled tightly, still shaking, like he was keeping himself from lashing out. Horrible silence swallowed the space between them. He was still holding his breath, and in that silence, she could hear the hitching gasps that would come every time it got too long and he was forced to take in more air. She didn't let go of his wrists, but she did relax her grip just a little bit. She'd been alarmed, before, but now she was wilting with that regret and worry. Especially when he stayed tucked away, only allowing himself the tiniest of breaths every so often just to keep himself quiet.

Eventually she leaned closer, trying to catch his eyes, even though they were closed. "Cameron…" Her voice was thicker than she expected. Her eyes were burning, and her chest was aching. "Cameron…you don't have to do that—  _please_ don't do that, I don't want that, Cameron, I—"

He suddenly took in a harsh gasp, so quick it made her jump. When he spoke, his words were practically gagged out. "I'm so sorry I'm so sorry—" He was talking so fast, he was tripping over his words. He sounded terrified and appalled. Kay knew what he was going to say even before he said it. "I'm so sorry I—  _I'm so sorry, how could— I wasn't list— listening I just wanted— you to— happy, you— oh my God, I—"_

"Cameron…Cameron!" She sat up so that they were both level again. She laced her hands back through his hair. Her voice was hollow with sorrow, but at the same time sharpened with that alarm that was sticking with her. "… _Sweetheart_ …" It took a longer pause, but he forced himself to look at her. The expression he was wearing took her breath away, it was so painful. She choked back a swallow before she shook her head. "Cameron…I don't want you to do that, for me," she whispered, her words hitching. She felt horrible. Guilt was burning through her worse than any amount of shame she had ever felt in her entire life. "Cameron, please _…please_  don't do that, I don't want you to do that for me, you don't  _have_ to."

Cameron cringed. "I can…" he cried weakly. "I want to— …make you— I  _can_ , I  _did_  it bef— I just—"

Kay shook her head, scooting a little closer. She wrapped her arms around him tenderly, slowly, and careful to make sure he was alright. At first he stiffened. But once she wound her arms around him and held him tight enough to offer security, he began to relax. She knew the amount of pressure to apply…the right way to hold him so that he felt secure but not suffocated. She felt him start to stop shaking.

Her throat was burning; her chest felt like someone was carving into it. She shook her head, hugging him harder for just a brief moment before she pulled back. He still looked strained, like he was sick. She moved to wipe away a tear that slipped down the side of his cheek. Gently, and sweetly. She tried to smile at him, but her lips were trembling too much.

"…No." Her voice was reduced down to a tiny choke. She was crying almost as much as Cameron was, at the thought of what he'd tried to do. " _No_ , Cameron," she croaked. He wilted, searching her face silently. She kept holding him with one arm, and with her other hand she alternated between brushing through his hair and wiping his eyes. Her heart dropped when she looked at him a little closer. She could see the smallest tinge of red on his lips…and the way he was wincing when he swallowed. He was bleeding. "Cameron…why did you do this? I don't want you to do this…"

"I can  _do_ it…" he whispered, almost desperately, only growing more so when she was already shaking her head. " _Kay,_ I  _can_ — I can just— I— I'm sorry, I—"

" _Listen_ to me." He did. She could hardly see him through her sheen of tears. Her voice shook with the amount of feeling she put behind it, and the sheer emotion she was choking on. But it demanded to be understood. "Cameron…you  _never_ …have to do  _anything_ like that  _ever_ again.  _Ever."_ His lower lip trembled more. His eyes flickered down, but she just curled closer to him, still combing through his hair. " _Especially_ with me." Her voice broke when she pleaded: "Cameron,  _please_ don't force yourself to do anything— you shouldn't have had to do it in the first place, I don't want you to do it  _ever_  again."

He said nothing. She held him for another couple of moments before she sniffed and turned, grabbing his shirt. She offered it to him, and watched with a heavy heart as he rushed to slip it back over his head. He was still crying, just silently. And when he got it back on, his eyes were snagged once more. She realized he was staring down at the scar on his arm. Her heart lodged in her throat. She weakened. Glanced up at him, and realized he'd caught her staring. Shame had returned to crowd his expression.

She  _hated_ that shame.

She reached down and grabbed that arm gently. His eyes widened, and he opened his mouth like he was going to say something. But before he could, she bent down and pressed her lips against the wound, feather-light but loving at the same time. His eyes stayed wide as he stared at her. She shifted so that she could wrap an arm around him again. She intertwined their fingers and held his right arm close to her chest. "I just want you to feel safe," she whispered. He was still silent, still didn't know what to say. But she felt his head nestle down into her shoulder, against her neck. "I want to keep you safe…" she murmured again.

She hadn't done it the first time. She'd failed him once already. It made her sick to know that that was what had happened. That he had flinched, that he had held his breath, that he had closed his eyes, that he had  _forced_  himself to move despite the fact he had been crying. She was  _sick_ to know that he had gone through something no one should ever have to even fathom, and that he felt like he still had to. She felt  _sick_ that he was still facing the repercussions. He was still suffering. That he was the  _only_ one still suffering.

"I want to make sure you feel safe…" she whispered again. Hating how constricted her chest still was, and how hopeless she felt when she wondered if that was even possible, at this point.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

She didn't know why she was doing this.

Or…no, that wasn't true. She knew why they were  _both_  doing this. She just knew they  _shouldn't_. That it was  _wrong_. To do it the way they were, anyway. She knew this would only take their wounds and pour acid over them. They  _both_  knew it was a bad idea; the tension in the air spoke enough volumes. But neither of them were voicing the fear. They got into the car and they drove in complete silence, resolute and grim. Kay's grip was so tight on the wheel her hands were shaking. Jonathan was staring out the window, his expression blank. A type of apathy that somehow came across as very, very dangerous.

The silence followed them. It followed them as they drove there, and as they parked, and as they went inside. They didn't even  _look_ at each other, and yet there was no hostility in the avoidance. In fact, there was an odd kind of comradery, now. It was almost akin to the feeling they'd had when Cameron had gone missing, and Kay had gotten Jonathan out to help find him. Odd, that the feeling was back now…and yet now the situation was flipped. Now they were going back  _in,_ together. Not for Cameron.

For someone else.

Kay had gone through visitation at Rockland. She wasn't paying attention at all as she went through the procedure. However, the fact couldn't be blamed solely on the fact it was a learned ritual. Her mind was elsewhere, as she emptied her pockets of all metal, and answered the typical questions. She was thinking back to the last time she had done all of this. The last time she'd stepped foot in this prison. She'd thought she'd be visiting Jonathan. She'd gone in thinking all she would get were sour glares, muttered responses, perhaps an abrupt ending when he yelled at her to just get out, because she had disappointed him.

She remembered how Cameron had looked. From the very  _instant_  she had laid eyes on him, she'd known something was horribly wrong. She remembered how he'd been clinging to the doorway and the walls, so he wouldn't fall. She remembered his tiny, shuffling steps, and the absolute agony on his face with each one. How he'd all but collapsed into the chair. She remembered him swaying side to side, like he was liable to fall even then, and she remembered the faraway look in his eyes as he stared anywhere but her. Like he was only half there, and that half was desperately wishing that it was gone, too. How she'd barely been able to understand him because his words were so chipped and frayed on his throat.

She remembered how he'd cried. How he had shut down immediately after. The numbed look on his face as she'd screamed at the guard, at the warden, at  _anyone_. She remembered how bloody and beaten he'd looked, and how he hadn't relaxed until they were far away from here, and even when he did, it was only to fall apart all over again. She'd memorized every detail of that day. It was engrained in her memory; she was sure it would stay that way. She thought of it often. Even when Cameron looked at her and grinned, she remembered it all. She remembered what this place had done to him.

"Kay." She jerked, and realized two things at the same time. The first, being that they were sitting— she had been so wrapped up in thought, she hadn't noticed they'd gotten through all the security. The second thing she noticed was that she was crying. Already, there were tears running down her face. The moment she felt the wetness, she was sniffing and ducking her head, wiping them away. Jonathan watched her, discomfort and regret mingling in his expression. He started to offer: "You…don't have to—"

"I do." She practically spat it. She looked back up, scowling now. She shook her head. "I  _do."_

Jonathan frowned, looking around the room. The room was empty, for now. They were just waiting. It was just as silent, here. He hated silence; silence was what help you overthink. He remembered how much he'd liked it when Cameron visited. When he rushed into the room already midsentence, somehow making this dreary shithole brighten, along with him. The thought brought sudden, blinding anger to take his breath away. His fingers dug down into his knees. Under his breath, he hissed: "Your phone."

Kay reached back into her pocket. She opened it and swiped to the correct app. She pressed the large red button in the center. His expression stayed grim as he saw the timer— saw the phone start to track whatever noise it could…whatever conversation would follow. Kay put it facedown on the table's very edge, next to her. Her eyes flickered to his, and again, they held each other's gaze. Mutually furious. Mutually scared. Mutually unsure if this was a good idea, but knowing that it was far too late to turn back now. They were in this, but…at least…they were…together.

They watched the door with expectant glowers. The longer the wait went on, the worse it got to suffer through. Jonathan's fingers kept digging into his knees— he was sure they were leaving behind hard crescent gouges. He'd been grinding his teeth for so long, his head was aching. Kay wasn't faring much better. She was shifting, crossing and uncrossing her legs, crossing her arms over her chest, then reaching up to draw her hands through her hair.

They were stuck in limbo, but it was shattered at the sound of the door at the end of the hall opening. It was only the tiniest click, but they were both snapping to attention. Kay jumped; Jonathan's face was already twisted in rage— in something far too severe to be labeled loathing. At first they just saw the guard. But Kay felt bile rise up in the back of her throat when they walked in and the prisoner in tow filed after. She didn't know what she had tried to brace herself for. If she even tried at all. But the instant she was laying eyes on him, Kay took after Jonathan. She was too enraged to even  _breathe._

He was tall and imposing. He had slicked-back black hair and cold brown eyes that seemed almost dark enough to match that shade. When they settled on them, they were immediately drawn to Jonathan. Jonathan stiffened when she saw the edge of his mouth twitch upward. In a  _smirk._ He was  _smirking._ She swallowed hard, but kept herself composed. Jonathan was struggling to do the same. Decker took the seat across from them, and sat back a bit in the chair. She  _hated_  the way he looked at them. She hated  _everything_  about him.

Decker broke the silence. Just hearing his  _voice_ disgusted Kay.  _"Jonathan Black."_ He drew out the name, and saturated it in fake wonder. Jonathan's eye twitched. "Back to grace us with your presence so  _soon."_ His eyes flickered over to Kay, instead. She couldn't speak even if she wanted to. "I see old habits die hard…you can take the prisoner out of the prison, but you can't take him out of the FBI, apparently."

Jonathan finally found his words. He was almost surprised at how blank and hollow they came out to be. "You seem awfully sure I'm  _Jonathan_ ," he rasped. Decker's eyes flashed. His smile stayed put. "Why? I walk in here. With an FBI agent. Why would Jonathan have any reason or motivation to come back to a place he was just let out of after being fenced in for a year? By all accounts, I could be Cameron." Decker didn't say or do anything. Jonathan's eyes narrowed just slightly. His voice was more barbed when he hissed: "But you seem pretty positive I'm  _not_."

He left a space for Decker to speak. He didn't, but he wasn't going to let him dodge.

"Is it because you know there's a  _reason_ Cameron wouldn't come back?" Anger was crawling in under his tone. He'd hidden it to the best of his ability so far, but now it was leaking out. All the anger he felt, all the anger he felt towards  _himself,_ too. He remembered his brother's screaming— the horrible way he'd sobbed and cried. His teeth were gritting more together. He had so many things he wanted to say, so many things he wanted to hurl at this monster. He'd been doubtful at first…wondering if this was a coincidence. Now, seeing him, he  _knew_ it wasn't. He could  _see._ So the words were snarled out.

"We know what you did."

It was  _infuriating_ when his reply came out so cool and unaffected. "You  _do?"_ Jonathan's eye twitched again. Decker raised his eyebrows, looking between them. He prompted: "Well… _enlighten me_." The way he said this, it was almost like he meant it as some kind of joke. Jonathan was biting down on his anger so much he felt like he was going to get sick. "I've got  _no_  idea what you're talking about."

Without thinking, Jonathan leaned forward and slammed his hand down on the table. Decker's eyes narrowed. Kay didn't even blink when Jonathan practically spat:  _"_ Youhurt Cameron, you piece of  _shit!"_ He hadn't even noticed the guard had stepped out of the room. Of  _course_ he had. But it didn't matter; Kay's phone was still going. He swept on, not even giving him the chance to say anything. By this point, he was hissing through clenched teeth. "And you made a  _terrible_ mistake. Because Cameron's  _my_ little brother."

Decker surveyed him. He  _still_ remained calm. Jonathan jerked back when he just said, very evenly: "Thought you two were twins." He smirked even more when he added: "Could've fooled me."

Jonathan blanched. He wanted to fly across this table and punch him in the face as hard as he could. He would  _break_ his hand, if it meant he could just  _hurt_  this monster. "We  _know_ …what you did," he repeated. Heavier, and slower. Decker's smile vanished. Now, he was glaring back. "We know. And we can prove it. We're  _going_ to prove it. You're  _not_  going to get away with this— not if we have anything to say about it. You're going to pay for what you did," he growled, dully. "You're going to  _pay."_

Silence was heavy. Nobody said anything. This time, Jonathan was waiting for Decker to speak—  _daring_ him to speak. And speak he did. But it wasn't anything that Jonathan anticipated. He didn't anticipate him looking at him so coolly, or anticipate the shadow of satisfaction in the back of his voice when he questioned: "And how do you think you're going to do that?"

"It'll be  _easy,"_ Jonathan snarled immediately.

"Will it?" Decker counted.

Jonathan was scowling at him with enough fury to burn him on the spot.  _"Simple,"_ he flung back. "We'll make  _sure_ you regret  _everything_ you did to him, and that you can  _never—"_

"And how do you explain  _his_  part?" Decker prompted.

Jonathan did a double-take. "His—?" The confusion melted away to be replaced with rage. By now he was leaning so far he was half-standing.  _"Cameron had no part in this, if you even so much as_ try _and—"_

"If you know the story, tell it," he invited. Leisurely, like it didn't matter. Jonathan faltered in confusion. His forehead creased. "I'm sure everyone will be  _very_ interested to hear about just  _how_ Sawyer escaped." Jonathan paled. His eyes widened. "They've been wracking their brains for a  _long_ time, trying to find him. Trying to figure out how he got out of here." Kay was frowning. Reluctantly, she turned to look at Jonathan. Only getting more confused at the horror unfolding over his expression. "So tell them. Or would you rather  _I_ tell it, right into that phone?" Kay looked back at this to see he was staring at it.

Jonathan was floundering for something to say.

Kay weakened. "Jonathan?" His mouth was open, but nothing was coming out. "Jonathan, what's he talking about?"

"He— didn't— that's not—" Jonathan struggled. "That has— nothing to do with—"

"I think if we're telling stories, I have some of my own." He was wearing a full smile, now. More and more unease was crawling under Kay's skin as she waited for an explanation. But Jonathan was too stricken. "Your  _little brother_ helped a  _prisoner_  escape, Jonathan Black— I don't think he can claim to be too innocent. I think if anything is brought up, surely  _that_ would out of the woodwork, too? Wouldn't want to risk  _that_ would we? Pretty serious crime. Or…maybe you  _should,"_ Decker snickered. "This place is missing a Black twin, now— maybe his cell can be right next to mine."

Kay repeated louder: "Jonathan,  _what_  is he talking about?"

When she spoke, Decker turned. Her skin crawled the very second he did. Her eyes were burning and it was just because she wasn't blinking that none of her tears were falling yet. An obscene amount of hatred was on her face, even with her confusion. Looking at him, she just thought of all the nights Cameron had woken up screaming. How many times he'd flinched away when she moved too quickly. She remembered him crying, forcing himself to move, pleading: 'I can do it, I did it before.'

"Who's this? You bring your girlfriend?" Decker asked. She scowled. Her eyes burned more, her teeth clenched harder. His smile grew, as if she'd told a hilarious joke. "Or…no…you're  _his_ girlfriend?" The loathing on her face that immediately surged forward was answer enough. He started laughing. "You're his  _girlfriend!_  Oh,  _man!"_  He leaned on his arms on the table. She recoiled like he had the plague. The smile he gave her was disgusting. "You're one  _lucky_  gal," he snickered.

She wanted to hurl so many things back. She wanted to scream. But all she did was stare hard.

"Hehelped a prisoner escape.  _My_ prisoner.  _That's_  why he got what was coming to him. So tell whoever you want. You try to  _prove_ whatever you want. That'll come out, too. Just like it came out on your little tape, here." He leaned closer. Jonathan was shifting subconsciously to be a little more in front of Kay. Maybe it was because he knew that's what Cameron would want him to do. But then again, Cameron would be horrified they'd come at all. "What did you think you were gonna do?" he mused. "You think you were gonna come in here?  _Outsmart_  me? Get me to 'slip up' and say what I did? I can tell you  _exactly_ what I did. Because  _I_ know there's  _nothing you can do to me_ if you wanna keep your pretty little boyfriend out of jail."

She was breathing sharply through her nose. "Didn't think of  _this,_ did we?" She shot Jonathan a look. He was just as worked up as she was. But he looked much less surprised. Did he keep this from her? "So, since all  _that_  is out of the way…what did you wanna hear? Did you wanna hear all about how he tried to fight?" If she dug her nails into her palms any harder, her fingers would dig straight through her hand. "He started out  _real_  feisty. But we broke him down. Maybe you wanna hear how much he begged, once we did."

Jonathan rocketed to his feet. He found his words, but only enough to snarl: "You… _motherfucker."_

"Not exactly," Decker mused. His smile turned even more twisted when he hissed: "But you're  _awfully_ close." Jonathan reared an arm back, like he was going to punch him. But he was stopped in his tracks when Decker spoke again. "I should thank you, Jonathan. If it wasn't for  _you_ , none of this would have happened." He froze. His eyes went wide and his arm dropped. For a split second, all of his anger, potent as it was, slipped right off. He looked winded. Like  _he'd_ been punched instead. "Looking back, I should have  _known_. He's not like you. He's weak. Soft.  _Easier._ You should have heard how he cried— how  _long_ he cried. It was pathetic." He tilted his head to the side, as if thoughtful. "Does he still cry like that?" Kay couldn't see anymore, there was so much water in her eyes. Decker smirked. "Does he  _remember_  me?"

"I'll kill you," Jonathan snarled. His eyes were the darkest shade of blue. "I'll fucking  _kill_  you, I'll—"

"He liked it," he interrupted. Kay scowled, her lips shaking. "He was asking for it." She remembered Cameron on the floor of Jonathan's room, Dina holding him as he hunched over and screamed as loud as his injured throat would allow. How he looked at her whenever she dragged him out of a nightmare, groggy and confused but terrified at the same time. "He was  _begging_ for it.  _Crying_ we didn't give him what he  _needed."_ She remembered him on the floor of the shower, shivering and sobbing and scrubbing his arm as if it would do any good. "He was  _perfect._ He  _started out_ so defiant…slowly breaking bit by bit." How he had stared dully at the floor and nodded when the doctor had asked if he had any thoughts of harming himself. "He was so… _responsive…_ to every little thing.

"He lasted a  _while,_ too. Eventually he started to give. Passing out every ten seconds…but it was alright; he didn't need to be  _awake_ to keep being useful. But eventually he just laid there— wasn't as  _fun._ Thirty more minutes, give or take, and we lost interest." Jonathan had tried a couple times to cut him off. He couldn't find the voice to. "Could have sworn he was as good as dead," Decker remarked. He laughed. "Guess he was holding out on us." He looked at Kay. "Does he hold out on  _you,_ too?"

Up to now, mostly she had taken to silence. She had so much to say, she couldn't get out a single thing. She spoke, but her voice was so flat it didn't even sound like hers. "I can  _get_ you," she mumbled, monotone. "I don't care  _what_ it is, I don't care  _how_ long it takes me to find something,but I will. I'll  _find_  something to give you more time, I'll find  _some_ way to make you pay and hold you responsible, I'll—"

"One word comes out of your mouth, and I tell them what I know," Decker promised.

"You have no proof," Jonathan finally spat out. "There's  _no_ way—"

"If you want to take that risk, go ahead. You might just be the gambling type. I know your brother is. But I sure hope you're better than  _he_  is at calculating odds," he snickered. "You're obviously the type to take matters into your own hands. I see  _Cam_ isn't with you." The nickname was bathed in derision. "Wonder if he even knows you're here." The answer was provided in their silence. He smiled wider. "Wonder if he even knows what you two are planning to do. Does he know you're planning on letting  _everyone_ know?" Jonathan scowled at the ground. Kay's heart twisted. "Didn't know he'd want everyone to know he was—"

" _Fuck_ you," Jonathan spat. It was all he could say.

Decker laughed again. He put his hands on the table and slowly stood, too. He was just a little taller than Jonathan was. But with the way he stood, he seemed  _half a foot_  taller. Jonathan wasn't intimidated. When he leaned closer, so close their faces were hardly two inches apart, Jonathan still didn't so much as blink. Kay was growing tenser, looking between the two and starting to slowly stand. But as soon as she started to, she was freezing. "But Jonathan…" It sounded like he was cooing. Mocking laughter was hidden underneath his voice when he murmured: "Your brother already  _did."_

Kay's eyes went huge; her stomach dropped. Horror slapped her across the face and ice rushed through her veins. She thought Jonathan had looked angry before, but it was  _absolutely nothing_ compared to the rage that twisted his expression. It only took a second for him to buffer, but the instant that second passed, he snapped. He managed to hold back the scream that was fighting to get out of his throat, but he still threw himself across the table. Decker was so close it was easy; he grabbed onto his shirt and yanked him hard. Decker reacted instantly; he grabbed him back, his hands trying to lock around Jonathan's throat.

"Hey— stop it,  _stop it, stop!"_ Kay jerked out, thrusting her arms between the two of them and trying to shove them away. Decker was too strong; Jonathan was jerking, so his hands couldn't get around his throat, and he was still trying to hit him. He might have landed a few blows, Kay couldn't tell. Between them both grabbing at each other and her trying to get in the middle, it was hard to be sure of  _anything._ She had no idea how long they were all pushing and shoving; she had no idea how nobody was rushing in.

Eventually, she tore it and grabbed Jonathan's shoulders to pull as hard as she could. He ripped him away. Jonathan was fuming, enraged and scowling as he stumbled back and breathed hard. Kay's own breaths were coming in pants. She stared at him dismally. His hair was messed up and his shirt collar was a little stretched; he was still tense, like he wanted to fly back to him. Blinding pain ripped her heart to pieces, as she realized that that was exactly how Cameron must have looked. She turned back. Decker was laughing to himself when it was clear Jonathan was giving up. The glint in his eye was sickening to see. It was even more sickening when Kay wondered if that was what Cameron saw in his nightmares. If  _this_ was what spurred him awake screeching.

But also, seeing that glint, she finally realized. There was no point. They should have known from the very beginning that there was none. Even  _if_ there wasn't the factor of the details Jonathan had not told her, Decker…was right. What could they have done? What could they have done, without Cameron knowing? They couldn't have brought forward evidence. They couldn't have brought this whole situation to light.

They couldn't have done anything…without…his  _consent._

"We should go," she barely whispered. Jonathan's face fell. He looked like he wanted to argue. But he didn't. Maybe because he was having the same realization she was. Decker's smile wasn't going anywhere. That glint in his eye was staying, and she knew she couldn't keep looking at it. Before now, she'd wanted nothing more than to be able to put a face to the horrible things she  _knew_ had happened to Cameron. Now, she was wishing she was oblivious. Because this was so much worse than she could have imagined. "We're not doing anything, here," she murmured. "…We need to get back to Cameron."

_That_ was where they were needed. Not here.

_This_ part was done. It was  _always_  done.

"Say hello to him for me," Decker had the nerve to snicker.

She felt sick. She was angry—  _furious._  But also sad. Sad,  _because_ of how pointless this was. She had no idea how he could be so  _heartless._ She had no idea how he didn't see what he had done. And she didn't know how to communicate it to him. She didn't know to tell him what he had done. She didn't know how to tell him how  _beautiful_ a person Cameron was. She didn't even know how to  _begin._ How to  _explain._

How when they walked into a crime scene, Cameron  _always_ went to the victim first, if they were still there. How he told stupid puns and laughed so hard he cried, even though the only other person that was laughing was Jordan, and everyone else knew that Jordan hadn't even  _gotten the joke._ How he cried  _every single time_  he watched the scene in  _Cast Away_ where Wilson floated away. How one day at work, he had made it his goal to go down the entire hallway in Kay's office chair, and when he finally managed it, he'd pushed off so hard he'd slammed into the opposite wall and fallen on the floor. And had just laughed.

Decker didn't understand  _any_ of that. Even if she could put him into words, he still wouldn't.

He wouldn't understand the  _person_ he had harmed. How  _amazing_ they were.

Jonathan knew it just as well as she did. He was disappointed and enraged…but he started to turn anyway. Kay began to do the same. But then she stopped. Hesitated. Her heart was in her throat and it was breaking into pieces. She turned and walked back. She'd only managed a couple steps as it was, but she went back to Decker and forced herself to look him in the eye. "He's  _strong."_ Jonathan stopped and turned back. Her voice was so choked it was impossible not to know she was bordering the edge of tears. But she didn't care. She also didn't care that Decker looked so unimpressed. She kept going.

"You have  _no_ idea how  _strong_ Cameron is. He's a  _hundred_  times the man you could  _ever_  even  _think_ of being. He is  _kind_ , and  _caring_. He has people that  _love_  him. You hurt him, but you did  _not_ break him. Because Cameron is  _stronger_ than you are. You're going to be in here, rotting in prison and he is going to be out  _there,_ where you can't touch him." Her lips were shaking. "He is the bravest, sweetest, most  _selfless_  man I have  _ever_ met in my  _entire_ life. He didn't deserve  _anything_ you put him through. But he's recovering. And I love him for that. We  _all_  do. I don't know  _how_ you can  _possibly_ live with yourself. But  _Cameron_  will live. And he'll be  _happy_. Because you don't  _matter._ You're  _nothing."_

He took a step closer. Jonathan rushed to immediately be at her side. "Big talk, for an agent that didn't even know he was here in the first place," he hissed. Kay's hands clenched into fists. Decker was so close she was starting to have to look up more to maintain eye contact. "How's his  _arm_ holding up?" he snickered, and her stomach flipped. "Bet that's a turn-off, for you. Which is a shame. He's  _real_ good."

She gritted her teeth. She saw red. And started talking before she could really even know her words. "You're  _sick,"_ she growled. "You're a  _vile,_ disgusting, horrible,  _revolting_ rapist that deserves to—"

"You've got quite a mouth on you," he interrupted. She already started to snap at him again, when he leaned just the tiniest bit closer and whispered: "It's nowhere  _near_ as good as your boyfriend's, though."

All her words were snatched away. All her breath was, too. She stared at him in repulsed horror, unable to speak or move or do anything at all. Jonatan was just as shocked. Decker was enjoying every second of this, taking in their reactions. Again, Kay wanted to do about a million things. She wanted to scream or cry or run away or do  _anything._ She couldn't, right then. But this was the tipping point, and  _this_ time she  _did_ manage to do something. One thing. Not much. But it was  _something._

She smacked him.

Without any warning at all, Kay smacked Decker across the face as hard as she possibly could. She put everything behind the blow, all her anger, all of  _Cameron's,_ all those weeks they had struggled through to get to this point, she put behind her hand. It was so hard, it stung. The smack rang out in the silence of the room. Decker was thrown with it. He staggered, and when he righted himself, the entire side of his face was already turning a bright red. Jonathan had been floored at the unexpected attack. His eyes were huge, his mouth halfway open. He looked at Kay, still just glaring at Decker, with straight shock.

But he was snapping out of it fast. In the couple seconds it took Decker to even realize what happened, Jonathan was grabbing onto Kay's arm and yanking her. She came back to herself enough to get her feet to work enough to comply. He was rushing for the door, pulling Kay so that she was in front of him and he could be behind, just in case. Decker let out an angry yell. He might have started to go after, but the guard must have been alerted by the cry and actually decided to do his job because he came back in and was restraining him before he got too close. Still, they kept rushing. They didn't stop until they left the prison entirely. Until they got outside and into the parking lot and they could finally stop.

They got back to the car and stood outside of it, catching their breath and digesting what had happened. Neither of them spoke for a while. Until Jonathan looked at her again, still with that awe, and announced: "You  _smacked_  him." Like she wasn't aware. But mostly it was just so he could state the fact.

She looked back at the prison. She shook out her hand; it was still hurting. "Yeah…I did." There wasn't any triumph. She looked at Jonathan, and his face fell. She murmured: "I left my phone."

"I can get it for you," Jonathan offered instantly. "You don't have to go back in."

Her voice was softer when she said, "You didn't tell me everything. You  _knew_."

He ducked his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I…I knew," he rasped. Her eyes flashed. "He told me. I didn't…I wasn't thinking about…" He looked at her, and she was taken aback by the raw sorrow that surged forward to take over his features. He looked at her mournfully, a lifetime's worth of regret on his face. "I'm sorry, Kay," he practically whispered. Looking at him, she knew he was meaning much more than just keeping information from her. "I'm…I'm so sorry." Tears were choking his words.

Her heart pulled. She looked back at the prison. She said nothing for a long second. Her own eyes started to well. She still felt sick, with Decker's words ringing in her ears. But she looked back at him and saw his regret. Recalled how he had agreed to come with her here in the first place, when she'd asked. How he had shifted to be more in front of her whenever Decker got too close. How he had pulled her away before Decker could do anything. She closed her eyes. Her throat felt hot, and tight. But the words came out anyway. Very quietly. "It's okay…"

He stiffened. His eyes went wide. She opened her eyes again and saw this response, saw that he was struggling for something to say in the face of her subtle, very reluctant, but still-there forgiveness. As partial as it may be for the moment. She could see his difficulty. And, especially right now, she wasn't too sure she wanted to give him the chance to think about it. She didn't want to have that conversation. Not now. So she said instead: "We can't tell Cameron." His eyes flashed. He closed his mouth and grimaced. "About any of it." They couldn't tell anybody. What they had tried to do…what they had…been told…

"No," Jonathan agreed, just as softly. "We can't."

They lingered there for a while more, saying nothing. Feeling mutual disappointment and regret and sorrow. Neither of them said anything else. There wasn't anything  _to_ say. Nothing that would help, anyway. Eventually, Kay cleared her throat and unlocked the car. She got into the driver's seat while Jonathan went back in to fetch her phone, and hopefully delete the useless conversation she had taped, because she never wanted to hear it again. Her chest was hollow as she waited, but he didn't take long. He got into the passenger seat, and she was reminded of the last time she had driven away from her, and how Cameron had been all but passed out where Jonathan was currently sitting.

The silence stayed, between them. But it was a different breed. There was a new sense of understanding in it. A new sense of trust that nothing was going to be said by either of them. In the occasional glance they did share, there was no hostility to be found. Not a word was spoken the entire drive. They got back to the archive quickly, and they just as wordlessly walked up together. Kay reached the door first. They shared one more look, and they both took a moment to take in deep breaths and wipe their faces clean of any remaining emotion from the encounter. As best they could. Once they knew that they were ready, Kay opened the door and stepped inside. The sound of laughter met them. She wilted, but kept going. Jonathan followed after he shut the door behind them.

" _This is the sixth time I've fallen off this freakin' road!"_ Jordan was screaming. They walked into the living room to see that everyone was knee-deep in a game of Mario Kart. Jordan was so invested in the game he was standing. Gunter was too; it looked like he'd had to get up just to see around him. Dina was sitting on the couch, and Cameron was beside her, sitting so that he was upside down. Kay's heart broke when her eyes lingered on him. He'd been the one laughing. His eyes were shining.  _"I hate Rainbow Road!"_ Jordan kept screeching.  _"I'm in last place, whose idea was this!?"_

"It was  _mine!"_ Cameron laughed.

"Aw, that makes sense, you're the actual worst," Jordan grumbled.

"This is true," he conceded. He was focused on the game, but then he perked, realizing Kay and Jonathan were standing at the edge of the room. He jerked immediately and paused it; Jordan groaned and wailed that he was 'just now getting it.' Cameron ignored him and rushed to get up. It was very awkward because he'd been sitting the completely wrong way, and when he got up too fast he staggered a little. But he looked confused as he went over to them. "There you guys are!" he exclaimed. Jonathan glanced at the ground. Kay still just stared at him. His eyebrows drew together. "Where have you two  _been?"_

They were silent. They hadn't come up with that part. Kay was blank, for once. Thankfully Jonathan came to the rescue. "We went out to lunch," he improvised. Cameron did a double-take. "We, uh…we had some…talking to do, we…" Kay weakened when she saw Cam's eyes immediately brighten. How he was starting to smile. "We just wanted to get a few things…off our chests, we…" He trailed off.

It was enough, though. Cameron looked between them, hope leaking into his gaze. It twisted Kay's heart even more. He looked at her and grinned. "You did?" he asked. She nodded. "That's…that's great! That's amazing, I'm so happy! I—" He was cut off when Kay suddenly rushed forward, throwing her arms around him and hugging him. He squeaked in surprise, and from the pressure that was suddenly choking him. His arms were half-raised and he looked down at her. Her head was ducked and her eyes were screwed shut. He looked confused as she clung tighter. He could feel her shaking. "Woah— are you alright?"

Jonathan stared at her sadly, and with a little tension. But she just nodded and got even closer. "Yeah," she sniffed, her voice thick. Cameron was still frowning, but slowly started to wrap his arms around her too. "I just love you," Kay murmured. "I love you  _so_ much."

He sounded baffled but happy when he returned: "I love you, too…" He pulled back a bit so he could see her. "You sure you're okay?" Her only response was to kiss him, softly and tenderly. And duck back to hug him again. He looked at Jonathan, worried and concerned. Silently, he mouthed: 'What happened?' Jonathan just offered him a smile, and mouthed back: 'Everything's fine.'

He felt bad when Cameron relaxed and just hugged Kay back. He felt bad about lying. But then again, as he looked at how they held each other and how content Cam seemed…he wondered, not at all without a little hope…that maybe it wasn't as big a lie as he thought.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

Cameron had said it before. He had tried to explain it to Kay as best he could; he wasn't sure he could really even  _begin_ to describe the feeling that he had constantly. A kind of foreignness. A… _detachment._ That was it. He felt detached.  _Often_. Like he wasn't actually present in the moment, but a mere spectator, instead. He felt like he was just someone looking in, standing on the sidelines and just observing. Like he didn't belong. He felt like that a lot. He'd felt it for the first time when he and Kay had first spent their nights in each other's arms. He didn't feel it as  _much,_ now. But that's where he could trace it back to. Lying with her, her arms wrapped around him and his head nestled into the crook of her neck, that was the start of it.

Sometimes he felt like he wasn't actually  _there._ He  _knew_  what was happening, but he didn't feel a  _part_  of it. When they were all sitting at the dining table laughing and talking, like it was old times and nothing had happened, he felt it. He felt it when Dina offered to make him her famous cinnamon hot chocolate with marshmallows and he said no, but she made it for him anyway and set it down "Just in case." He felt it sometimes when Kay drew him in for a hug, or planted a kiss on his cheek or his forehead.

He just felt  _separate,_ in those moments, and it took him a very long time to figure out why that was. But it was beginning to dawn on him. He was starting to think maybe he felt so apart from everything…because he just…hadn't  _expected_ to ever have moments like these again. They felt so surreal, because he had practically promised himself he would never get to a point where things would ever be like this. Would be as good, as comforting, as  _safe._ He wasn't sure exactly at what point he had decided that everything was over…whether it was sometime  _during_ , or if it was sometime  _after_. He just knew that even when he'd gotten home, he'd  _still_ been more than sure he was not going to make it to anything remotely good. Whether it be dying from his injuries, from his inability to eat or drink, or…by other means.

He'd known he was going to die. Because he'd known any alternative would be much worse.

_That_ was why he felt this way. When Jordan told a stupid joke, when Kay told him she loved him, when they were having a good time like the old days, when he caught himself smiling, even when he looked up and just saw his brother sitting on the couch again. He felt separate. Like he was out of place. He'd gone through… _hell,_ and here he was a couple months later arguing whether or not a hotdog would be considered a taco or a sandwich (if there is no  _tortilla involved in the equation,_ it can't  _possibly_ be a taco,  _Jordan)_.

It was weird. Strange.

All day today, he had felt…separate. From the moment he woke up to now, he felt as though he was  _intruding_ in some way. He took to the side and ended up being very quiet, as though he was worried if he said something everyone would turn and realize, and exclaim: "What are  _you_ doing here?" He wouldn't be able to answer; he wasn't all that sure, himself. All he knew was that it was December 25th. Somehow, the decorations were up and presents were wrapped, and somehow they were all there and all together. Having fun.  _Genuine_ fun; it wasn't faked or forced. It was nice, it was normal, it was— …just  _odd_.

"No, no—  _thanks_  for the present, I'm sure you spent a lot of time picking it out and I respect the effort, I'm just  _saying_  I hate it, and you wasted your money and your day," Jordan was offering. Gunter was smiling from one ear to the other, very pleased with the purchase. Cameron blinked a couple times, rousing enough to lean his head to the side and actually look at the shirt in question. It boasted a very obnoxious 'I'm With Stupid' complete with an arrow pointing  _up_  instead of to the side.

"It  _suits_  you," Gunter defended. "I think you should wear it every day— it's very  _becoming_."

" _Well,_ if you want something that suits  _you,_ there's a paper bag I can get out for you and shove over your head," Jordan said, his voice overly sweet as he threw the shirt to the side. It was clear, despite his words, that he loved it. Cameron would give two hours before he was changing into it. Maybe less.

"Be nice to each other, it's Christmas," Dina snapped. She was wearing her new necklace. She'd lit up when Mike had given it to her…ironic, considering that on the end of its silver chain was a little moon. She was up trying to clean up the mess of wrapping paper that was left on the ground. Most of the presents had been opened by now. The only ones that  _hadn't_ were Cameron's. All the boxes that were left were in a pile, stacked like Jenga blocks and all with the same name written on the tag. He was  _painfully_ aware that he'd gotten the most presents by far. But he hadn't touched them. Maybe it was the feeling of displacement that was making him hesitant. Whatever the reason, they'd crafted a small Everest.

She kept talking, but Cameron got sidetracked, his eyes catching on that necklace. He felt a sting of regret. Mike had given it to her the night before. He'd wanted to be here  _today_ , but he had his boys, and wanted to stay in for this holiday in particular. He felt bad. He'd tried to tell her that she could go be with Mike instead of them, but she wasn't hearing anything about it. She'd cut him off quickly; she didn't even want to hear the attempt. She said she wanted to be with them, but it was ridiculous to have to make her choose. The only reason she  _did,_ was because of him.

"Cameron?" He roused, blinking a couple times, realizing she was staring at him.

He cleared his throat, and sat a little straighter. "Yeah? What? Sorry."

"Don't apologize, darling, I was mumbling!" There was only a twenty percent chance she had  _actually_ been talking low. But he took the excuse. "I asked if you wanted to open your gifts before we ate anything." Cameron turned, looking at the stack. He frowned. "I could make waffles!" She was pulling out her stops, again. She knew that those were his favorite. "Or…you could open  _some_ of them, and I can start cooking after. Or…if you'd like, I can just start  _now…"_

"Oh, no, it's…that's fine. It's okay." The thought of being the center of attention was fairly mortifying. He didn't need everyone staring at him. Maybe he should have thought of that. "I can open them later." Dina probably would have looked disappointed, but in saying this, Cameron effectively agreed to at least having some food. So she just smiled, and didn't argue. She started to  _wrap up_  her cleaning…no pun intended. Jordan and Gunter were fighting about something. He looked back down at his hands.

"Hey…" He perked, tilting his head back. He'd started out just sitting on the couch with her, but somehow or another, Cameron had ended up turning and slouching to lean into Kay. She had accepted the new position without complaint. She hadn't had many gifts, and once she was through with her small assortment, she just wrapped her arms around him and held him. Sometimes, watching everyone else, she would absent-mindedly reach up to card through his hair. Something that made his chest pull with affection, but  _also_  something that made him dangerously close to dozing off, which was much less appreciated.

Her fingers were knitted there, as he looked up at her. At this point his head was practically in her lap. She smiled; it was the type of smile that was happy but worried at the same time. He felt bad, again. She always got worried when he was too distant like this. Sure enough, she hummed: "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Looking at her, he was suddenly on-edge. He took in a quick breath and tried to offer her a smile. "I'll be right back." It looked like she was going to ask where he was going. He rushed to stand up before she had the chance. He slipped out of the room. He was sure that once he was out, they'd talk about him. Might as well go fast, so they didn't have to wait.

He didn't really have a place in mind to go. For a second he considered just going back to his room, to try and get his breath back. But it occurred to him that if air was what he needed, then there was a better alternative. He went to the balcony, instead. He wearing a sweatshirt, of course, but it was about three degrees outside. It wouldn't be enough, but he didn't want to stay out for long, anyway. Just a couple minutes, to get his breath back…and to maybe have the cold wake him up. He didn't need a coat.

He liked the balcony, anyway. He'd always go there if he needed a second. He'd gone out there that first night they'd have Kay over. That was when she'd promised him that they would catch MW. Even though she had been wrong…being out there kind of reminded him of back then. Back before any of this started, and he was just keen on getting his brother out of prison— of clearing his name, and sorting this all out and leaving it behind them as a distant memory. He'd been hopeful back then, when he'd smiled at her. He missed that feeling. Being out here let him have at least a ghost of that again. Maybe now, it would help.

But the second he got out, he was being proven wrong. Someone else was already there.

Jonathan was leaning against the wall with his back to him.

For a split second, Cameron considered turning back before he noticed.

But he shut the door behind him. In the cold and quiet, the tiny noise was enough to get Jonathan to turn. His expression had been heavy before; when he turned to Cameron it was  _still_ heavy, but he could see he was trying to hide the fact. Cameron would hide the fact that he  _saw_  he was hiding the fact. It was the cycle they were in. Jonathan smiled, and Cameron returned it. After a beat of hesitation, he walked the rest of the way to stand beside him. He looked out over the city, too. Oddly, the view wasn't as great.

"What's wrong? Are you not happy?" Jonathan asked. Cameron glanced at him. "Christmas has always been your favorite day of the whole year. Ever since we were little. But…today, you've been…" He trailed off. Maybe it was because he just didn't want to hear the end of that thought, himself. Cameron said nothing. Jonathan grew warier. "You're not happy." This one was a declaration.

"I  _am_ ," Cameron assured. His voice was hollow, but his expression was earnest. He  _was_ happy. He wasn't  _upset._ He was  _fine._ That wasn't the issue. Maybe there wasn't  _even_ an issue. He didn't know. He cleared his throat, once again wishing the attention was anywhere other than him. He flipped the question around. "Are  _you_ happy?" Jonathan blinked, before he turned and looked back front. Now, neither of them was looking at the other. Which, somehow, made it easier. "You're out here— why aren't you in there? I would have thought that you'd be over the moon to actually have a holiday back." He didn't know when Jonathan had left, but it occurred to him he hadn't noticed his brother in the living room for a while, now.

"I  _am_." He parroted Cameron's reply. He sounded just as odd when he did, too. "I'm  _really_ happy to be back. To have Christmas again with  _you_ guys. You…you have  _no_  idea how  _awful_  it was when—" His voice got a little lighter as he started, a smile coming over his face as if he was going to launch into some story about how prison holidays were never  _quite_ the same. Laughter was even starting to bubble underneath his voice. But the instant these specific words were out of his mouth he was choking. His eyes widened and he went paler. Cameron looked at him; Jonathan met his stare with something too close to guilt.

Cameron simply forced a smile on his face. Looked back front. Jonathan was silent, mentally kicking himself for being so thoughtless. He gnawed on the inside of his cheek and considered apologizing. But it would probably make it worse. So he just took in a deep breath. "It's…it's good to be back. Home," he mumbled. "I can't…tell you how much I missed it. It's just…" He frowned. "Nothing's  _wrong,_ it just…feels…"

"Weird," Cameron finished, his voice quiet. Jonathan looked at him forlornly. That smile was still on his face, but there was nothing to it. Cameron shrugged one shoulder. "I know how you feel."

Jonathan couldn't stop himself from murmuring: "You  _shouldn't."_ Cameron just shrugged again. Didn't really matter. The only thing that mattered was that he  _did._ It wasn't like anything could be fixed. The uncomfortable silence was back again. Jonathan was fidgeting and glancing at him; Cameron was perfectly still. There was a thoughtful frown on his face as he looked out, now. Something about the city was different,  _right?_ It  _had_ to be— it looked different. He'd lived his whole life here; he'd looked out over this balcony countless times. But now the feeling in his chest was different from every other time he had.

"Cam?" Cameron tore his gaze away and looked at him. He at least looked a little brighter, now. "I, uh…" He hesitated, but his smile was growing. "I haven't given you your present yet," he pointed out.

"I haven't  _opened_  any," he objected. He looked back at the city and mumbled under his breath: "I'm seeing how long it takes Jordan to snap and just open them all for me." Only half-joking.

Jonathan cracked a more genuine smile. "My present isn't in there anyway." Cameron's interest was piqued. Old habits must die hard, because even now he was curious with the tease of a surprise. Jonathan cleared his throat and stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I, uh…I didn't  _buy_ anything for sure yet…because I wasn't even sure whether or not you'd want it. And I didn't know  _when_ you would. But." His smile was more nervous, now. "I…was thinking it might be nice if you had the chance to kind of…get out of here." Cameron's head tilted to the side. "If you could just… _go_ somewhere and not worry about anything else for a while."

"Like a vacation?"

"Yeah…you and Kay, if you wanted," Jonathan offered. "You don't have to," he rushed to add, when Cameron was silent. There was a look on his face that was almost a little uncomfortable. Or maybe it was doubtful. "It was just a thought. Something you could think about. If you  _want_ to go…you know, I would be happy to…do all of it for you. So you wouldn't have to deal with…making reservations and booking hotels and all that mess." Cameron looked at the city again, his eyebrows pulling together. As if reading his mind, his brother offered: "If you wanted a change of scenery…it's on the table."

He weakened a little. "Yeah…I don't know. It might be." Jonathan nodded a couple of times. "Thank you," Cameron rushed to tack on. "But I didn't—"

"I don't want you to get anything for me, Cam." Cameron's face fell. But Jonathan just smiled softly, and very sadly. "Really; I…I  _really_ don't want you to get me anything. Just…just being here is enough." Cameron's throat started to feel uncomfortably hot. "Cam…I know you didn't  _have_ to do this. I know you didn't have to…let me come back." He sounded like he was getting choked up. "I'm  _really_ happy to be back home. And I'm really happy to…be with you. I don't want anything else."

It took a moment for Cameron to recover enough to reply. To laugh a little emptily and say: "That's not that great a gift, I'm not…anything…"

Jonathan's response was immediate, and just as sad, if not sadder. "Don't say that."

Cameron had tried to smile. It was already decaying, but it died altogether at this.

He looked at him closer, unbelievably pained. "Why would you say that?" he murmured. Cameron was back to studying everything else.  _Any_ thing else. "You don't  _really_  think that, do you?" Before now, Cameron was  _more_ than confident. Confident being the  _nicer_ word than something like 'egotistical.' He always loved to boast about how he was the better twin, or how he was the best magician there had ever been, and yes, that was including Houdini. He'd radiated so much optimism, it was obnoxious. Now he was quiet. Sad, and somber. And now these kinds of phrases were coming out, so quickly and easily, as if they had been there from the start. "…Cam?" he prompted, quieter.

Cameron just kept staring out.

"You…" Jonathan wilted. "Cameron…you're not…you're not any  _less_ …because of what th—"

" _Jonathan_." Cameron's stare was blank, now, not even focused. He wasn't blinking, because he wasn't very sure whether or not he could keep from crying if he did. He made a face and shook his head…the way a person might if they were offered something to eat that smelled awful. "No." His voice was quiet, but firm. He glanced at him, but only quickly. "Let's not do that. Right now. Today."

There was a space of silence. Before Jonathan whispered: "…Alright. I'm sorry."

Cameron just swallowed and cleared his throat before he offered a weaker: "It's cold. We should…probably go inside." It was less of a suggestion and more of a demand. He wanted this to be over. Today was already uncomfortable enough. And he didn't want to cry if he could help it. He was tired of crying…his eyes were hurting from him constantly wiping them. They were just beginning to lose their 24/7 redness. It wasn't a  _big_ step forward, but it was a step forward that he had to try and  _keep._

Thankfully, Jonathan accepted. He nodded, and studied him a bit longer. But he  _did_ turn back for the door again. Cameron all too willingly followed. Stepping into the warmth of the archive was a rush of relief. He shivered, tucking his arms close. It smelled like Dina had already acted on her threat on making waffles. He could hear her and Gunter talking from the kitchen. Jordan was probably knee-deep in his presents by now. Honestly, it would be less work for Cam in the long run; he kind of wished he'd have at it.

Jonathan was staring at him, his expression heavy. He looked like he wanted to say something. But the look Cameron gave him in turn made him pump the brakes. He just nodded and forced a fake smile before he started to head for the kitchen. Cameron stayed where he was. His heart felt heavier in his chest. Everyone else was talking so loud. Joking and laughing. His eyes softened a little. Until he heard Kay's voice pipe up over all the others, and it vanished immediately. She was laughing too. His stomach twisted. His hands were wringing together. He wanted cards.

He turned and went the opposite direction, making for his room instead. He didn't shut the door, but he did round the bed to sit on his side. It was…strange to think that he had a  _side,_ now. That it was weird to have a night where Kay wasn't beside him, or sleeping with her arms around him. It rarely ever happened. They hadn't established anything, but every night was the same. He hadn't asked her about what she was doing with her own apartment. He wasn't sure how to start that conversation.

He wasn't sure how to start a lot of conversations.

He pulled out the drawer of his bedside table. His expression was heavy as he stared down into it. His stomach was twisting. He was trying to remember how to move his arm, so he could actually reach inside. He didn't know how long he sat there, but it must have been enough time to garner attention. He practically leapt out of his skin when there was a voice in the doorway. "Cameron?" He slammed the drawer closed and whirled around at the first syllable. His eyes were wide and his heart was thudding in his chest. Kay immediately looked guilty. "I'm sorry!" He relaxed, letting out a breath and forcing the tension out of his shoulders. He shook his head, but she kept apologizing. "I should have known not to do that."

"You're fine, I was just…" Cameron didn't finish. He just turned back and rubbed his forehead.

Kay was concerned. It was practically smothering him, how heavy her worry was in the air. She was reluctant, but started for him anyway. She sat down beside him. He was studying his hands. "You okay?" she murmured. "You've been a little quiet, this morning. Quieter than normal." Though, with their  _old_ normal, if Cameron had been quiet for more than five  _minutes_ something was wrong. "Is there something wrong? Something you wanna talk about?" He didn't look up, but he shook his head. Her eyebrows pulled together more. "Is there something I can do for you?" she asked, quieter.

The question made him grimace a little. His stomach kept twisting. It was difficult to breathe.

"Cameron, you're scaring me." She wasn't good at being scared. She'd told him this.

"I…" He forced down an inhale. "I have to…talk to you," he managed. Her frown only worsened. "Uh…I got you something." She blinked a couple times, doing a tiny double-take. Clearly, she had expected something much worse than 'I got you a gift for Christmas.' She started to smile, but Cameron wasn't doing the same. "You don't…it takes some…" He grimaced, getting frustrated with himself. "You might not want it," he forced out. She was shaking her head, but he was turning back for the bedside table. "And if you don't, that's okay, I don't— I mean, I  _care,_ but I wouldn't— if you don't want it, you don't have to keep it."

She decided to take to silence. She watched him fish out the gift he had been hiding, and present it to her. The second her eyes were landing on it, she was overcome with confusion. There was wrapping paper over it, but the shape was clear. Her eyes flickered up from the small box, to him. He still looked five seconds from falling apart at the seams. He was  _way_  past nervous, now. The way he was staring at her made her positive it wasn't just earrings. Her heart was starting to lodge up in her throat. She took it. But stayed unsure. When she didn't move, Cameron mumbled: "It takes…some explanation…"

She glanced at him. Started to open it. She stripped off the paper and got the tiny box she knew would be underneath. It looked fancy. She glanced at him again. He was fidgeting his with hands— what he did when he was on-edge. He was waiting for her, so she took in a slow breath and opened it the rest of the way. The instant she did, and the instant the gift was staring back at her, her stomach was dropping. Her breath was gone; she couldn't blink. She couldn't do  _anything,_ except stare.

The ring was  _beautiful._ It was white gold, and thin. Near the top, the band split into two and twisted around itself elegantly. In its center, was a large diamond. Other smaller ones were leading up to it along the twists. They were sparkling in the light. Her mind went blank as she looked at it in silence. Studying every detail, because she wasn't sure at all what else she was supposed to do. She didn't know what to say, or what to think. The fact was clear when she looked back at Cameron, her expression a little stricken. Now, she was sharing his nervousness. But his had multiplied and quadrupled in the time she had been studying the ring. If he wasn't clenching his hands so tight together, they would be shaking.

"Uh…" He took in a breath; that was trembling as well. "So, that's not— …I mean,  _obviously_ …" He cleared his throat. "I didn't know what to give you. For Christmas. And I…I was really… _worried_ about it— I wanted it to…be  _good._ Because…you've given so much to  _me_ …and you've  _done_  so much for me…" She softened, love starting to melt her confusion. "I was trying to…think of what would be a good enough present— what would  _mean_ just as much, but…I mean, that's  _impossible_.  _Nothing_ I could  _ever_ give you would even come  _close_ to what you've given me. So I just…had to come up with something, and…Dina helped, I'm not the expert on…we went while you were at work.

"It's not—  _that_  kind of ring," Cameron reassured. "But it's not…we bought it as a promise ring. But it's…not really  _that_ either." Her smile was fading. "It  _is_ a promise ring, but it's…it's just  _my_ promise to  _you."_ He took in another slow breath. "Look." His voice was weaker. It made her frown. "I don't know why you stay." She started to open her mouth, but he kept going. "All the things I've done…all the things I've said, all the…things you have to  _do_ …and you've never left. You've stayed. Somehow…for  _some_ reason…you love me. Even when I'm…" Her smile was sorrowful, now. Her eyes were beginning to mist over.

"You make me happy," Cameron murmured. His eyes were tearing, too. His voice was getting thicker. "You make me  _so_ happy. It's… _amazing._ That I'm  _here_. That I have  _you_. You're the reason I have…anything." He swallowed hard. She sniffed, and smiled as she felt a tear roll down her cheek. Cameron cleared his throat again. "It seems too good to be true. Like this is all just some…dream, or…" He shook his head. "You tell me you love me, and every time you do I hang onto it, because I feel like it's the last time I'll ever hear it. Before you realize you're too good for me…and that you deserve someone better.

"Maybe it's just me in my head. But…if you ever wanted to leave, you  _could._ I promise. No matter… _when_ it would be…if you want to leave, I won't fight you. I'd understand. The last thing I want you to feel, is…trapped." Kay shook her head. She wiped away another tear. Cameron smiled, but only a little bit. He nodded down to the ring. "My promise to you…is that no matter what happens…even if you leave…I will  _always_ be grateful…for everything you've done for me." Her throat was burning. Her vision blurred when she took the ring out, overly gently and overly careful. "I promise that you don't have to stay, if you don't want to. And I promise that I'll always be in debt to you. And that neither of those will ever change."

She turned the small piece of jewelry in her hand a couple of times. Before she realized that the inside of the band was inscribed…just two words, so thin and tiny she almost hadn't noticed. But once she did, that was all it took. Tears rushed to blur her vision entirely when she saw the 'Thank you' on the inside. She felt them run down her face. She sniffed, using her other hand to cover her mouth. Before she sniffed and looked at Cameron, her heart aching. He still looked on-edge. He was waiting anxiously, and when she beamed, he smiled just a little, too. Her voice was clogged with tears when she got out: "Thank you."

She slipped the ring on. It fit perfectly. Cameron breathed a noticeable sigh of relief when it did. Kay's beam grew even bigger when she looked at it. She set the box aside as turned into Cameron to kiss him. It was long, and slow, and earnest, and she reached out to take his face in her hands as she did. Cameron smiled; she felt him wrap his arms around her and pull her close. Kay pulled away only enough to murmur: "I love it…I love  _you."_  He brightened. She pressed her forehead to his and insisted: " _So_  much."

She waited only long enough to see his beam before she was kissing him again. The door was wide open but neither of them cared. They were only thinking about this moment, and how close they were. Kay was only thinking about how warm her affection was, burning so much in her chest she felt like it might be on fire. It was blatantly obvious in her voice when she murmured again in another one of their pauses: "Merry Christmas, Cameron Black."

Cameron laughed. She  _loved_ the sound of his laugh. And when he replied, she was smacked with so much relief and happiness. That she could hear the words he said. That she could just hear his  _voice,_ because she knew that she had come so close to losing him so many times. That there had been a chance she wouldn't have him here with her. That she had feared she wouldn't hear his voice or see him smile. That he wouldn't make it far enough for her to hear him whisper back to her, just as excitedly and adoringly:

"Merry Christmas, Kay Daniels."

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

" _Kay! Kay! Help! Help me, Kay, please!"_

She was crying, forcing herself to run faster. It was dark— she had no idea where she was going. She was running into walls, doubling back, trying to figure out where she was and trying to figure out where Cameron's voice was coming from. But that was the issue: it seemed to be coming from  _everywhere._ She couldn't  _find_ him.  _"Cameron!"_ she screamed back. Her voice was wrought with desperation. It cracked against her throat. Cameron kept screaming.  _"Cameron! Cameron tell me where you are! Cameron, please!"_

He didn't. He just kept yelling and sobbing. She couldn't find him, but she  _knew_ what was happening, she could  _tell._ She  _knew_ he was being held down, he was being punched, kicked, cut into, all while Decker laughed at him. He was in trouble, he needed her— she was letting him down, she was abandoning him! She ran faster, cried harder. Kept screaming his name desperately, begging him to let her know where he was so this time she  _could_ save him. Unable to stop hearing her own heartbeat in her ears, racing in panic because she couldn't find him and—

"Kay!" Her eyes flew open. She gasped hard, her body going into a spasm of fear. For a second she was too panicked to realize what was going on. Her thoughts were wild and frantic.  _Find Cameron, find Cameron, help him, I have to help Cameron I—_ She realized someone was touching her. She was reeling, but gradually she was coming back to herself. Cameron was only a couple inches away; his blue eyes were crowded with concern. Hs hands were against her cheeks; he was cradling her face gently, and when her eyes locked with his, his thumbs started to stroke back and forth over her cheeks.

"Hey…" His voice was soft. She gasped again, looking at the clock. It wasn't even two in the morning, yet. She was still getting over the initial hurdle of shock. She was still gasping; her hands were shaking. But as understanding dawned, and she became more aware of the fact Cameron was holding her, she was beginning to come back to herself. He looked tired and a little scared, too, at her state. But when she looked at him, he softened, and smiled. "Hey…" he whispered again. "You okay?"

She was calm again, but now that the shock was gone, all that was left was sorrow and regret. Before she could think, or stop herself, her eyes were filling with water. Her lips were trembling as she saw Cameron's expression weaken. The dream still terrified her. It had seemed so real. Because some part of her knew that it  _was_. "I couldn't find you," she choked out. Cameron's face fell even more. "I couldn't find you, I couldn't help you, I— I—" She cried harder, shaking when she reached up to hold his face, too. To start there, but quickly go anywhere else. One hand laced up into his hair, the other drifted down the side of his neck. She clung to his shirt, her fingers curling down hard. Just trying to reassure herself he was there. She kept whispering quiet sobs of: "I couldn't find you, I was trying to find you, I—"

"Hey, hey— hey, look at me!" Cameron shushed. He started to brush back through her hair, the way she always did for him. She choked and sniffed. "Hey—  _look_  at me," he repeated, gentler. She did. He shifted closer. "I'm right here," he breathed. Her heart broke, at the reassurance. "I'm right here, Kay, I'm fine. I'm here with you, and I'm  _happy._ Everything's fine. Right?" She hesitated. Closed her eyes for a moment, before she took in a slow breath and looked at him again. "I'm okay. So are you," he repeated.

She winced. Choked back a swallow. She said nothing. Cameron grabbed her hand off of his shirt, intertwining their fingers. He kissed the back of her hand. Her heart squeezed again. "I'm just so sorry…" Cameron's face fell when she eventually sobbed this. His eyes rounded out with sorrow and confusion, but he said nothing; he just listened. "I'm so sorry, Cameron, that I didn't go there sooner. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you, that I didn't notice it was Jonathan and not  _you,_ when I  _should have,_ and—"

She was starting to get worked up again. Cameron shook his head. He interjected firmly, but gently. "Kay, that's not— you had nothing to do with  _anything,_ I've told you that." She shook her head, just crying harder. He looked at her despairingly. After a couple seconds, he tucked her close; she buried her head away into his shoulder. His voice was a soft murmur against the top of her head. "Where is this all coming from?" She choked at the question. His voice grew more strained. "What's wrong? What happened?"

It was silent for a full ten seconds. Before: "Nothing happened," she sniffled. She curled closer. She could  _feel_  his confusion and worry. "Nothing happened, I just…" She wiped her eyes with her free hand. She wasn't letting go of Cameron with the other one. "I'm just sorry," she whimpered. "And I— I love you  _so_  much and just— the thought of— I could have done something, I—" Her expression crumbled. "You didn't deserve it," she blurted out. Cameron stilled. This entire time, he'd been blind-sided, but this made him freeze. But she couldn't stop. "You didn't deserve it…" she cried.

His face fell even more. He opened his mouth…tried to say something. But words failed him. He closed his mouth and held her a little tighter. She clung back harder, if that was even possible. She didn't say anything else, but that was almost good, because what she'd said already was enough. It hung in the air, as the both of them choked on it. Cameron rested his head on top of hers, suddenly feeling very hollow. It was ages before he spoke. When he did, his voice was hesitant, and hushed, too. "…Thank you," he practically whispered, his mouth barely moving to form the two words.

Kay stilled, frowning and sniffling. It didn't make sense. Or…maybe it did. All she knew was that the tone of his voice was enough to twist her stomach into knots and lodge her heart into her throat all over again. She settled against his chest, fitting there like a puzzle piece and just concentrating on the fact his arms were around her. She was here with him  _now._ That would have to be enough, somehow. She just struggled to concentrate on it. Feeling him against her was enough to calm her heart, to soothe her panic.

For once,  _she_ was the one trying to get comfort from  _him._

And  _she_ was the one who fell back asleep, lulled only by the snugness of arms around her.

(~**~) (~**~) (~**~) (~**~)

"I bet you I can fit… _nine_ cherries in my mouth at one time," Jordan proposed, very seriously.

"You  _cannot_." Jonathan stated this in a firm tone of voice, without a single pause.

Jordan started to reach for the jar. "I'm gonna do  _eleven,_ just for that."

"You're gonna  _die_  before 2019 starts," he foretold.

"So I have  _ten minutes_ to fit  _twelve_ cherries in my mouth." He ignored Jonathan's look, and his small echo of:  _'Twelve?'_ He was too busy opening the jar. Gunter was staring at Jordan with a look of open exasperation, and Cameron started out trying to do the same. But after he crammed the fifth cherry in and started to realize that this was a bad idea, he couldn't keep himself from cracking a smile. They officially had only ten minutes left of 2018. Apparently they were going to go into the New Year with a dead body on the floor, once Jordan died of oxygen deprivation. Which was  _unfortunate,_ but there were some things that were unavoidable in this world. Jordan eventually succumbing to his stupidity was one of them.

The TV was on, live from Times Square. The team had stayed in. No huge parties or clubs or blowouts. Just music in the background of a night in. Mike had come over to be with Dina, and he had brought his boys. They were  _more_ than ecstatic to run around the archive's entirety. Cameron had actually only seen them as streaks, sprinting by. He and Jordan and Gunter were on the couch, currently a witness to his oncoming death. Jonathan was sitting on the armrest by Gunter, leaned over to see Jordan and fix him with his trademark Jonathan expression of: 'You're So Stupid and I'm Judging You Silently in My Head.' Not meaning to  _brag_ , but Cameron was the prime receiver of that look.

Dina, Mike, and Kay were standing off to the side. Dina had gone to the length to decorate the archive a little, with streamers and banners and lights. There were party poppers for when the clock struck twelve. There was food, and drinks…though Cameron hadn't touched a single one all night, despite everyone else taking part. Jordan was wearing a crappy-looking plastic top hat that declared it was 2019, to anyone that wanted to know. Dina had coerced Gunter to at least wear celebratory beads. Cameron had tried to get Jonathan to wear the 'Happy New Year' tiara, but he'd refused fairly adamantly, so that had gone to Kay.

Cameron had chosen to sport the headband that stuck up and declared: 'Best Year Ever!'

… _He_ thought it was funny.

Jordan started to asphyxiate on the cherries, so Cameron decided to leave. Gunter was explaining how stupid he was. Jonathan just looked mildly confused, just observing the entire thing. Cameron went over to the other half of this group that  _wasn't_ insane. He had no idea what they were talking about, but Kay was laughing, and that sound alone made Cameron smile. He walked up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle, leaning over to set his head on her shoulder. She perked when he did and turned a little awkwardly to look at him. She was already smiling. Cameron grinned when she kissed his cheek.

"Hi," she murmured. Her voice was soft, but she was close enough to his ear that it didn't matter. His grin only got wider, and he murmured the greeting back just as quietly. He was relieved to see her smiling. She had been upset the night before…this morning, she woken up apologetic, like she'd done something wrong, or overstepped a line. Cameron had reassured her it was okay, but, at least during the first part of the day, he could tell she was guilty. He could feel her glance at him every so often. However, now she was more like her old self. And Cameron didn't mistake her beam when he returned her gesture and kissed her cheek too.

Mike looked like he had won the lottery. "I  _knew_ you two would get together!" he crowed, and Kay shot him a look. "The office had a bet, you know," he tacked on. "Some people bet it'd take you two months. Some said three weeks." He sounded proud when he stated:  _"I_ said five months and fifteen days. I was closest— you guys got me a hundred bucks."

" _What!?"_ Kay exclaimed, the second that Cameron asked: "Can we see some of that?"

Mike's arm was around Dina's waist as it was. She was positively glowing, and Cameron was glad. She deserved to glow. "What!?" Mike blustered. "It's basically a  _compliment!_ You two are really good for each other." At the same time, they cracked the same embarrassed grin. "You  _are._ I'm happy for you guys." Cameron was wise to the fact his look was a little softer when he glanced at him.

But he just smiled, and said a tiny: "Thanks, Mike."

Dina was looking at the pair fondly, but then she frowned and leaned over to the side, scowling instead. Cameron followed her stare and realized that Jordan had coughed the cherries everywhere. Jonathan had sprung up to his feet away in time, but Gunter had somehow gotten hit with quite a few of them. He was currently yelling about cherry juice and how it didn't come out of clothes. But Jordan wasn't listening, because he was gesturing to the TV wildly.  _"Five minutes!"_ he was hacking out.  _"Five minutes, five minutes to midnight! Dina we need all the_ crap!"

"It's not—!" she huffed, shaking her head with an irritable scowl. She flashed an exasperated look at Cameron before she started for the kitchen. She tapped Jonathan on the head as she went past, to get his attention. "Come with me, we have to get the champagne ready!" Jonathan was all too happy to oblige and get away from Jordan, who was still choking.  _And_ Gunter who looked pretty close to just straight up choking him himself to end the whole thing. He retreated with Dina, sharing her look of exasperation.

Kay started talking, and he roused and turned back around. His head was still on her shoulder; by now, she was holding back to his arms. She was wearing that irritated look he knew very well— the one where she frowned and her nose scrunched up and her eyebrows drew together in a silent 'What is wrong with you?' The look that always made him smile. "So wait. What bet?" she demanded, shooting the look at Mike, who was suddenly very invested in his drink as he took another sip. But she wasn't going to let him off that easy. "Who was betting? How  _long_ has it been a thing? Who all knew?"

Mike tipped his drink towards her. "Dina makes  _really_ good margaritas, you should—"

"Mike!" she snapped. "How  _long_  has there been a  _bet?"_

Mike stared at her with wide eyes. Before they flickered over to Cameron, just as lost, and he asked: "How long have you been working with us?"

Cameron laughed. Kay tilted her head back a little more to ask him: "Did  _you_  know about this?"

"I am the  _last_  person to know about  _anything,"_ he replied innocently.

She rolled her eyes. But she was biting back on a smile. She started saying something— probably demanding to know who she had to smack when she got back to work, or if Deakins knew about the whole thing. Cameron wasn't really listening. He was looking at her with a fond little smile. His chest felt warm, and it was only growing warmer. He felt lucky. He felt  _happy_. He wondered how in the world anyone else could have guessed they would get together, when he'd had no idea himself. If someone had told him this is where he'd be, he would have told them they were insane. Just…because he had  _no idea._  And he  _still_ didn't.

He had no idea how it had gone from here, to there. He had no idea how he had gone from popping up, completely uninvited and  _unwelcome_ to boot _,_ jabbering about a million miles a minute about disappearing planes, only to be met with  _thanks for your help, but get the hell out._ From being snapped at to leave, to being looked at and asked: "What do you think?"

From being someone who was called only to clear up a question, to knowing how she liked her coffee. From being a close friend to spend nights with complaining about exes, to taking a bullet for her. From realizing he loved her, to realizing he couldn't have her. From looking away because he couldn't meet her gaze, to calling  _her_ for help because she was the first person that came to mind. From pushing her away, snapping that they 'wouldn't work', to sleeping in her arms because with her he didn't feel alone. From telling himself she was too good for him, to drawing her close and kissing her himself.

From knowing his life was over…to realizing he could have a new one with her.

"Cameron?" He came back to himself. Kay was back to looking at him, having to twist her head a little awkwardly in order to do so. "What are you thinking about?" she murmured. Mike was gone. He'd gone over to Dina; with her and Jonathan, he was helping cart in all the glasses of champagne.

"I'm thinking…I'm pretty lucky," he admitted. She softened and turned in his arms; he drew back just enough to let her. "And…I'm thinking about how funny that is." Her smile grew sadder. She reached up to interlace her fingers behind his neck. He searched her eyes for a moment before he murmured: "This isn't…the  _way_  I wanted this to happen. This isn't the way I…wanted to end up with you." He took in a deeper breath. "But…I've always…wanted  _you."_ She beamed. He loved it when she beamed. "Always."

Her smile was a little waterier than it was before. Or maybe it was a trick of the light.

He smirked. " _Obviously_ , you can't say the same thing, because when you first met me I was the most annoying person to ever dare walk into your line of vision, much less  _stay_  there."

She giggled. Her expression was soft when she drew her hand through his hair again and gushed: "You're  _still_ themost annoying person to ever dare walk into my line of vision. Much less stay there."

He laughed. Her heart tugged; she loved it when he laughed.  _"No,"_ he objected. "Because  _now_ I'm the best, handsomest, charming, debonair and most  _perfect_ person you've ever  _met._  I think that's what you  _meant_  to say." She giggled again. And laughed even more when he insisted: "The two sound awfully similar so I can understand you accidentally saying that instead. I'll let it slide." She shook her head, surveying him affectionately. He could practically hear the words. But he wanted to say them. So he drew her closer, so he could put his forehead against hers, and brush their noses. He murmured a soft, gentle: "I love you."

She beamed again. "I love you too," she whispered back.

He was about to close the space they had so he could kiss her. But before he had the chance there was a tiny cough. They turned, not letting go of each other. Dina was smiling, overjoyed. But there was humor in her eyes too, when she held out champagne glasses to them. Their smiles turned a bit more sheepish. It was with clear reluctance they let go of each other and took their glasses. They joined the others. He caught Jonathan's eye. He jumped a little when he did; he looked guilty at being caught staring, even though Cameron had caught him plenty of times. It didn't matter. Cameron smiled back anyway.

" _Alright! We survived this shitty year, our prize is gonna be a new one!"_ Jordan yelled.

"I'd rather just have more alcohol," Gunter grumbled. He tried to take a drink of the champagne, but Dina slapped him in the back of the head, snapping that it was for the new year. He just made a face.

"This year was five years long," Jonathan sighed, mostly to himself.

Dina gave Cameron a smile, and leaned over to rub his shoulder gently. "This one will be better," she promised. Very soft, but confident. Cameron smiled back. He gave a tiny nod. Jonathan was watching this as well; he noticed when his eyes flickered again to his brother. They flashed when he saw the same doubtful look on his face. He tried to make up for it; Jonathan smiled, when he realized he noticed. Cameron did too. Just then Mike's kids started practically screeching the countdown. Seeing as they couldn't have any champagne – Jordan had tried to vouch for them but it wasn't flying, for Mike – they were armed with the biggest poppers. Pretty much confetti canons. They'd been waiting  _all night_ to set them off. Going by their yelling, they were past their patience.

" _Ten! Nine! Eight!"_

Jordan was trying to juggle his own poppers at the same time he held his drink. Cameron would bet five million dollars on the fact he was going to spill it because he refused to just hold one at a time. Kay wrapped her arms around Cameron again, hugging him from the side and resting her head on his shoulder. He hoped she wasn't about to drop her drink like Jordan was— it'd go all over him. But he was warmed with the tiny contact, and he wrapped one arm around her waist in turn.  _"Seven! Six! Five! Four!"_ Dina laced her fingers with Mike's— a detail his kids were gratefully bypassing, otherwise the countdown would surely be interrupted by a chorus of  _'Ewwww!'s._  Mike wrapped an arm around her shoulders, smiling huge.

" _Three! Two!"_ Gunter was snapping at Jordan to stop messing with his popper— Jordan was saying he was going to set it off in his face. Jonathan was getting in between the two of them. He was trying to be angry, but there was a lightness in his expression that hadn't been there in a while. A smile he was trying to hide, as the two of them already kicked off the year in the middle of an argument. Which seemed tradition. Cameron found that he was smiling, too. It felt just a  _little_  weird…like Christmas had. But not  _as_ weird.

He felt a little more in the moment.

He felt more like he belonged.

He turned to look at Kay, and realized she was already looking at him, her expression absolutely adoring. It made him smile. He turned just a little, reaching up and tucking her hair behind her ear. He wanted to do it to both sides— he wanted to grab her face in both hands and bring her close, but unfortunately he still had to hold his drink. But he tried to be satisfied enough with this.  _"One! Zero! Happy New Year!"_ The second the kids cried this, the rest of the team cheered, Jordan set off his popper (which  _did_ go off dangerously close to Gunter's face), the boys set off their cannons and got confetti  _absolutely everywhere,_ and Kay and Cameron kissed.

Cameron guided her closer, and her fingers curled more into his hair. He meant to just give her one little kiss— a celebratory, cliché kiss for the new year. But he might have overstayed that a little. Kay wasn't going to complain. They kissed long and tenderly, always beginning to separate before they came back again, like they changed their mind and regretted parting. By the time they were through, Cameron's face hurt he'd been smiling so much; Kay was a little flushed. He tapped his glass against hers, and she laughed.

The kids were picking up the piles of confetti they'd created and flinging them back at each other. Jordan was loudly asking if there were any more poppers so he could set one off  _directly_ at Gunter's face this time. Jonathan had cut his losses. He was watching the TV. He had the smallest smile on his face. Cameron's own faded. He cleared his throat and glanced at Kay. She followed his stare, and understanding dawned over her. She flashed him a smile, and gave a little nod. She took her arms back and stepped away.

Cameron walked across the rom. He reached out and tapped his shoulder. Jonathan roused, and he was very aware of the fact that he immediately lit up. Not… _exactly_ lit up, but he brightened in a way that was…sort of specific, now— kind of sad, and pained, at the same time, whenever he saw him. Cameron was starting to wonder how long that new habit was going to stay. He'd thought about asking a couple of times. But he wasn't going to. Not right now. Instead, he just said, over the rest of the noise. "Hey, c'mon."

Jonathan frowned. But he followed, and ended up tracking him all the way to his room. He wasn't able to hide his nervousness very well by the time Cameron closed the door behind him. "What?" he asked. Cameron didn't answer; he rushed around him and went to the closet. He started rummaging around. "What's wrong? What are you looking for? The others are going to wonder where—" He cut off, when Cameron reemerged. He was holding a box. A  _big_ one. He looked ecstatic. Jonathan was still eyeing him a little nervously. But he was cracking more of a grin when he offered: "Christmas was a week ago, Cam."

"Yeah, but I didn't give you anything." Jonathan's smile fell immediately. Just like his shoulders slouched. Cameron just deposited it on the bed. He was still smiling, but there was a trace of apprehension in the grin, too. He gestured to the box. "So this is just…real belated. But hopefully it'll still be good."

The reaction wasn't what he'd looked for. Jonathan looked  _upset_  at the surprise, not thrilled. "Cameron, I…" Cameron's smile wilted. Jonathan was guilty for that, too, but he was  _guiltier_  when it came to  _this._ "I told you, you didn't have to get me anything. I…I don't deserve it." He was barely audible. He could barely even look at Cameron. "I don't deserve anything from you," Jonathan tried again, when Cameron said nothing. His voice sounded a little congested.

It took him a second to figure out what to say. He took in a deep breath and forced the smile back on his face. "Well…the thing is— I already  _got it_ ," he tried. Jonathan was still upset. He looked back at the gift when he said this.  _"And_ I went to all the trouble of  _wrapping it,_ and Kay spent about ten minutes verbally  _destroying_  my self-confidence by telling me how  _horrible_  I was at gift wrapping, so there was  _pain_  put into this, as well— I simply refuse to let that pain be for nothing." Jonathan still didn't move. He was just staring at it. Much like he'd had to say at the rink, Cameron urged: "Ya gotta  _open_ it. To see inside."

Jonathan glanced at him one more time. Cameron just raised his eyebrows. Half-encouragingly, half-pleadingly. It took another second, but he relaxed when Jonathan sat down and started to unwrap it. He brightened, but that nervousness still stayed. Jonathan tore off the wrapping paper in silence. They could still hear everyone talking and laughing from the living room. He figured he knew where Jonathan's eyes would go first, when he opened it. And he could tell he was right the moment his brother's eyes widened. The moment he straightened and looked like someone slapped him across the face.

"You— …this is…?" Cameron's smile turned more eager. Jonathan moved very slowly, but he reached inside and brought out the thing that took up the most room. It was the only real reason it  _needed_  such a big box in the first place. He fished out the picture frame. He looked from it, to Cameron. Arranged perfectly inside was the first thing Cameron thought of to get him. The one thing he  _needed._ The thing that wouldn't be all that important to anyone else, but would mean the world to  _him_. Sure enough, he could see his brother was floored. He couldn't get his voice to work when he got out: "You got me a birth certificate?"

"The internet's a great place," Cameron offered. Jonathan looked back at the framed document, still trying to piece it together. But Cameron saw he was starting to smile.  _Big._ It got his chest feeling lighter, it got him straightening more. "I don't…know if you ever had one, I don't know what Dad… _did_ with yours,  _if_ you had one, but…I figured…we might as well leave…you know, we might as well leave  _everything_ behind…while we're at it." Jonathan's eyes flashed at this. He looked up quickly, but Cameron was focusing on the box. When the silence started to get too heavy, he encouraged: "There's more. In there."

Jonathan tore his gaze away from his brother. He looked at the birth certificate a moment more, and Cameron was over the moon to see him smile. A full, actual smile. He pulled out something else from the box. A wallet. He turned it over a couple times in his hands. He opened it, but it was empty. Cameron spoke up again. "I figured you would need something to hold everything. Of course, I couldn't get it all done myself— that part's up to you, and it's a  _laundry list_  so you're welcome for giving you  _errands_. But you're gonna need your own ID…someplace to put your own credit card…debit card. You're gonna need to get your own license— you'll have to pass the  _test_ so you gotta study for that, but I'll still hope you fail anyway, and hope for you to get the  _worst_ instructor possible, too." This was all said very conversationally. As if it didn't matter, and he didn't see the  _new_ ecstatic smile his brother was wearing. "It'll probably take a couple of tries, because you're obviously a  _terrible_ driver, but you'll eventually get it, I'm pretty sure. …Maybe."

Jonathan was trying his best to hide his beam. But his best kind of sucked. "You're an ass," he laughed. Cameron only raised his hands innocently. Jonathan's expression turned softer. He paused for a moment. Just looking down. Before he set that aside, too. "How is there  _more?"_ he demanded, but Cameron didn't answer. He just watched. Now, his smile was getting uncertain again. He ducked his head a little when Jonathan picked up the last gift. He bit down on his lower lip and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

There was a long stretch of silence. Cameron didn't look up. His heart twisted a little when he heard his voice, though. "This…is…" It was the same words he'd said before, but it was said a lot differently. He sounded hollow. A little…upset. Confused. Cameron risked a glance up. Jonathan was looking at the tiny, now-framed photo with an expression between happy and crestfallen. He stared at the photo of the two of them…the photo of when they were little. Of them captured mid-laugh, Jonathan's arms thrown around his neck and him beginning to keel over.

And now, between them, a thin, barely-noticeable, tear.

Cameron took in a slow breath and cleared his throat. His voice sounded different, too. Quieter, and the tiniest bit more choked. "I, uh…I found the picture…a…whileago.  _Re_ …found it, I guess— it was in a book. In my room. It was…just…back when you'd first…" Jonathan looked up at him. This time he stayed. Cameron thought of looking away, but he couldn't bring himself to. "I found it, and I…I mean I was…obviously I wasn't thinking, I…was mad. And…upset. More…upset…than mad, I think. I…"

Jonathan's eyes seemed shinier. He opened his mouth. But Cameron wasn't done. And when he continued, Jonathan let him have the floor. And that was good. Because he had a lot to say. He pulled his shoulders back, forcing himself to straighten. He lifted his head back up. He did his best to make his voice tougher, even though he was painfully aware of how thin the façade was. But, he didn't sound doubtful at all when he declared quietly: "I…had the right. To rip it." So much pain came over Jonathan's face it was a wonder he wasn't crying. Before, Cameron might have backed away. But that was then. This was now.

"I  _deserved…_ to rip it. Jonathan." There wasn't a single question in the statement. Jonathan swallowed hard, but he didn't object. Cameron's eyes flickered down to the snapshot of them. "I found it…and the  _very first thing I wondered…_ was whether or not that smile was fake. Whether or not you meant that hug— whether that was  _before_ whenever it was you decided you hated me, or if it was somehow  _after_ it, even  _then._ I was sad. And angry. I felt bad…after I did. We have so few pictures of the two of us. Dad made sure of that. After I tore it, I felt… _horrible._ But…I  _shouldn't_  have."

He steeled himself by remembering what he'd said before.  _'We're going to talk about it when I want to talk about it. And how I decide I want to.'_ He remembered Kay's words, too.  _'You didn't deserve it.'_ "What you did to me…was  _horrible._ I messed up, Jonathan, but I already  _knew_ that. I was  _already apologizing_." Jonathan was biting hard on the inside of his cheek. He was silent, taking everything in agonized silence. "But you  _still_ left. And I spent… _ages_ …just  _trying_ to… _figure out_ why you would have done what you did. Trying to…come up with some  _excuse_ , some  _way_  that this would all make sense. But there  _isn't_  any excuse. It was so hard to come up with one because there just wasn't one to get.

"I didn't understand that. For the  _longest_ time, all I did was blame myself. All thought was that  _I'd_  fucked up. That I'd deserved it." His voice cracked, and Jonathan flinched. "It took me a  _long time_ to see that was wrong. I'm not saying this  _all_ your fault. I did stuff too, I know that. But you had a  _hell of a lot_ to do with it, too, Johnny. You  _chose_  not to take my offer. You  _chose_  to leave me. You  _chose_  not to answer the phone. There's no excuse for any of that. So I was angry. I was upset and I ripped it and I felt bad  _then_ , but I don't anymore. 'Cause I know better now." He gestured to the photo. "I  _deserved_  to do that."

Cameron's heart tore when he heard how empty Jonathan's voice sounded. "I know." The two words were soft and curt, but they spoke volumes that words couldn't even begin to define. Cameron swallowed, finding it a little harder. He cleared his throat. It felt like ages before he could keep going.

"But…I kept the pieces," he murmured. He looked back up the second Jonathan did, too. "I…I had the right to rip it, but I had just as much a right to put it back together, after." His brother blinked a couple times. His eyes flashed. Cameron held his gaze, even so. "It took me ages to realize…that even with everything that happened, and even though I was angry, and upset…I didn't want you out of my life. I told Kay…I lost so much anyway…and I didn't want to add you onto that list.

"I know you blame yourself, Jonathan. I see the way you look…and the way you look at  _me._ I know you blame yourself enough for the both of us." He wilted. "Jonathan…you said before that we shouldn't sweep anything under the rug. This is me…not doing that. This is me saying…I know what you did. I was angry. Maybe…sometimes I'll get angry about it  _again_. But…I'm also saying that I know you regret it."

He waited, in case Jonathan wanted to say something. He didn't. "What's done is done," Cameron said, very simply. "Being angry doesn't solve anything. Neither does all this  _comparing_. It doesn't matter  _who_  did the most, it doesn't matter who  _thinks_  what, or who wants to judge who. It's not a contest. And if it was, someone  _else_  already won, and we've all just been… _competing_  for no reason, trying to pretend that they haven't when it was a pretty clear landslide." This was said with bitter humor. His grin was halfway sorrowful, halfway amused. Jonathan's expression broke again with pain. Cameron wasn't bothered. "I don't wanna stay stuck, here. I wanna get out of this. I wanna move  _on_. I don't wanna live my life  _with_ this, Jonathan. I wanna live my life  _because_ I could leave it all behind. And I know you do, too."

Surprisingly, he did speak to this. Barely…but he did. "I don't deserve to," he practically whispered.

Cameron's smile stayed. Though it grew a little softer with the pain the words inflicted. "We both deserve to. We both  _have_  to," he objected. "If one of us doesn't move on, the other person can't. We're a package deal. We've  _always_  been a package deal; this isn't anything different." Jonathan still just stared at him sadly. Cameron shook his head. "You asked me a while ago if I'd forgiven you. I didn't really know what to say, then. I knew the  _reasoning…_ I just couldn't really figure out how to explain it. But…now…"

He remembered what it had felt like waking up, standing and seeing that Jonathan had left him. The concern when he'd first seen Sawyer surrounded and he'd made the decision to change directions. The confidence he'd felt turning down his offer, saying instead that he would rather stay— that his brother was going to come back for him soon. He remembered all the pain, all the sorrow and shame and humiliation and betrayal. But he also remembered how Jonathan had smiled with such clear relief when he'd opened the door for him that night he came for dinner. He remembered how he had sat on the bathroom floor and hugged him, even though Cameron had refused to hug him back. He remembered how happy he had been to be challenged at an ice skating race, as if it was the equivalent of being offered five million dollars.

"At first I didn't want to forgive you," he rasped. "I thought by…forgiving you, then…all the blame would have nowhere to go but on  _me._ Like it would make everything else unimportant. I didn't…want you to think it didn't matter. That it was okay. But…now I know that that's not the case. You know what you did. And I know you wish you could redo things just like  _I_  wish I could. I'm not forgiving you because I want to take away all of what you did." Jonathan's eyes rounded out a little. With surprise, with guilt, with pain. "I'm forgiving you because you already understand."

Jonathan's eyes were dangerously close to welling over with tears. "Y-…you…" He glanced away from Cameron, back down to the picture. He was holding it tighter than he was a couple seconds ago.

Cameron hunched his shoulders. "There's no point in throwing away  _everything…_ just because of one thing," he murmured. Jonathan looked back up quickly, like he wanted to argue, so Cameron rushed on. "It was a  _big_ thing, I'm not saying it wasn't. But… _we're_ a bigger thing." He smiled with this, and it was an actual smile. A genuine one. " _We're_ bigger," Cameron insisted. "We're more important. And it might not exactly…be the  _exact same,_ but…" He glanced at the photo. Shrugged again. "We still fit," he tried.

Jonathan's tears finally tracked down his cheeks as he looked at the thin white line between them. Barely noticeable, because Cameron had delicately lined the pieces up, to try and get them to fit back together. It was the best he could manage. It still showed. But Jonathan was crying simply because of the effort his brother had put forward in the first place. Effort he knew he didn't deserve, just like he didn't deserve this forgiveness…but they were both things that he had been practically aching for. Now they were both being given to him at the same time, and his chest was beginning to burn from the inside, out.

He stood. He looked at Cameron, and even though his vision was ruined with tears, he still saw the scar that now traced down his brother's cheek. He still saw the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing. His lips shook harder. It took him a couple heartbeats to croak: "I don't hate you." He'd said this already. But he was practically choking it out, now, like he had been holding it back for forever and now he was unable to do anything but let it burst out again. Cameron recalled he hadn't actually said anything to him the last time he'd said it. "I don't hate you, Cameron. I've never hated you. I'm— I'm so sorry, I'm sorry I hurt you, I'm sorry I didn't answer, I'm sorry about— about everything, I—" He stopped short, here. He couldn't go on.

Cameron's smile stayed. "I know you are." Jonathan's expression broke. He breathed in faster than normal when Cameron continued. "I forgive you, Jonathan. I forgive you for all of it." He just kept staring, his shoulders beginning to shake. Guilt remained on his face…but now there was relief, too. A relief that was growing quickly, now that it was given the chance to be there in the first place. He could practically  _see_ how much it was already starting to overwhelm him. And he could practically hear his brother's thoughts.

Maybe it was because he was sharing the same exact ones.

' _Finally…finally.'_

Jonathan rushed at him. Before Cameron could brace himself, he was throwing his arms around him. The embrace was hard— he was almost knocked over. He hugged him so tight it was difficult to breathe. Initially, he was too surprised to move. Like the last times his brother had hugged him, he just stood, his arms at his sides. Jonathan just hugged him harder, ducking his head into his shoulder. Eventually, Cameron took in a deeper breath, which stuttered on its way down. Slowly, he reached up and wrapped his arms around his brother. He hugged him back, and he heard Jonathan give a tiny choke when he did. He felt him tense with something like alarm. Shock. The he was actually hugging him back.

It just made Cameron hug him harder. He adjusted his hold purely so he could squeeze him tighter, resting his chin on Jonathan's shoulder. He felt him shaking. Jonathan was losing control of everything else; he heard him start to breathe heavier and cry, sniffing as he pulled Cameron closer. Hugging him with the closeness and tightness he had craved and needed desperately for what had felt like lifetimes. It was just like he thought it would be. Just like he'd wanted it to be.

It was too late.

But it  _wasn't_ too little. Not at all.

"We'll be okay," Cameron promised. "We'll be fine." And for once, he believed that wholeheartedly.

Jonathan hugged him even tighter. If such a thing was possible. "I love you, Cam." Another sentiment that Cameron hadn't returned yet. Had always met with silence. Either silence, or a simple 'Okay.' Because he had no idea  _what_ he was supposed to say.

Now, he had a better idea.

"Love you too, Johnny," he whispered, a smile melting over his face.

They stayed like that for a long time, hugging each other and feeling the first real sense of relief in this whole thing between the two of them. The relief they'd both started to fear would never come. Months ago, they could have been this way already. They could have apologized, they could have hugged, they could have moved on. Here they were instead, saying the same things but in wildly different circumstances. They could have been here before. But that was then and this was now, and too many things had happened in the meantime to have it be the same. But they were still here. But some crazy… _fucked-up_ miracle, they'd made it here. And if they'd made it this far, who was stop them from continuing on?

They were still teary-eyed when they both inhaled sharply and let go. They withdrew and noticed the sheen in the other's eyes, but didn't say anything. They just smiled. Jonathan's grin filled with unimaginable relief, and Cameron's slowly filling with happiness the more he felt a part of his chest, empty up to now, slowly fill. He was picking up the pieces. Slowly. But  _surely_. It didn't matter  _where_ the pieces started. Or  _who_ had thrown them to the ground in the first place. What  _mattered_  was that he was picking them up. And he was picking them up the way he wanted to. Because that was just as important.

"We should go back," Cameron said. His voice was a little thick, but it was much lighter than it had been in some time. Jonathan smiled, fragile but there. He nodded. He went to gather everything together so he could take it out with him, while Cameron went to the door. He wasn't bind to the fact that his brother's eyes lingered on the photo of them. When Cameron had showed it to him before – a lifetime ago – he had rolled his eyes and shoved it away. Now, his expression was soft. He looked like five million pounds had been lifted off his shoulders. Cameron couldn't remember the last time he had seen him this happy. It made his own chest feel lighter when he continued. "They're probably missing us."

Jonathan laughed as he turned to follow his brother. Discreetly, he was wiping his eyes on his shoulder. "Jordan's probably back to insisting he can fit the whole jar of cherries in his mouth," he croaked. "He's probably trying it again right now; he thinks if he just  _does_  it enough times it'll eventually work out."

Cameron grinned. "Well. You know," he chirped, twisting the knob of the door and swinging it open before walking out into the hall, "Nothing's impossible."


End file.
